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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046600">Hamartia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanaeira/pseuds/Lanaeira'>Lanaeira</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Interrogation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Humor, Torture, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanaeira/pseuds/Lanaeira</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After liberating the East, the Resistance aim for John Seed next. But fearful for the fatalities, they decide to take a more covert approach.<br/>Rook ends up embroiled in a tricky undercover mission right under John Seed's nose. She finds out his weaknesses, but would it be fair to use them against him after all that she has learnt about the youngest Seed brother?</p><p>[[This fic will be updated weekly!]]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deputy | Judge &amp; John Seed, Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Plea Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic starts off quite fast paced with a lot to digest, but I promise things slow after this intense interrogation is over!<br/>Overall, right now, I think the fic is going to be about 20 chapters, so stay tuned as I'll be updating the same time every week!<br/>Let me know what you think &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>“What’re you holding me for, Sheriff?” John Seed leant back in his seat, inked hands tethered together by a pair of Hope County licence handcuffs that hooked onto the table in front of him. </span> </p><p><span>"Multiple accounts of assault and battery of a police deputy." The Sheriff asserted himself in the seat parallel to John, "including kidnappin' and unlawful holding of said deputy for an extended period of time."  </span> </p><p><span>“Your evidence," The Baptist challenged with a tilt of his head, levelling his eye line to meet his captor's, "is it anecdotal?” John's tone was mildly disinterested and he expelled an air of self-importance. Perched on his seat, he looked completely unphased, almost peaceful. His neatly rolled up sleeves nested under his elbows on the table, vest wrinkling lightly at the relaxed angle he leant against his chair.  </span> </p><p><span>“We have Hudson." There was an audible shift in the room like static shot out of a broken TV set. "We caught her in transit.” Whitehorse presented Hudson's ID on the table as proof of his claim, sending a an icy chill up the cultist's frame, followed by a straightening of his posture as John subtly glancing down to where his key still hung around his neck. They must have caught her being transported in a cult vehicle, there's no way they'd caught her in his bunker. </span><em><span>Who fucked up that the fucking resistance managed to get Hudson back?  </span></em> </p><p><span>“And her evidence, it's anecdotal.” A harsher tone laced John's voice. It was no longer a question, it was a statement. </span> </p><p><span>“It’s physical, </span><b><span>Mr Duncan</span></b><span>.” </span><b><span>That name</span></b><span>. </span><span>John stole a deep intake of breath: Annoyance... </span><em><span>Wrath</span></em><span>.  </span> <br/>
<span>It made him uncomfortable and Whitehorse could see it printed all over his face, a face that often wasn't very easily read.  </span> </p><p><span>Feeling an increasing rage growing in his core, John fabricated a diplomatic smile, “Please, we both know that’s </span><em><span>not my name</span></em><span>.” His words were sincere but his tone read threatening. </span> </p><p><span>Reaching for a meek brown folder, the Sheriff began sifting through some files, glimpses of the Eden's Gate logo and names marking each piece of paper. </span> </p><p><span>“I believe your legal name is John Duncan.” The two locked eyes as Whitehorse looked up from his scribblings, holding the file close by his chest. The original files had been lost in the helicopter crash, he had no evidence other than his memory. But John didn't know that.  </span> </p><p><span>“By common-law, it’s Seed." John rectified, levelling his weight forward into the sheriff's space, "I was born John Seed." The cultist declared, "I answer to John Seed.”  </span> </p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Mr Duncan</span></em><span>, in order for you to adopt a name, common-law requires the name ‘Seed’ to be writt'n multiple times on government official documents within the last 5 years." Flipping through his phoney documents as he spoke, Whitehorse could feel John's glare invading each border of the folder shielded from him. He didn't give a shit what John's name was and seeing John's reaction could have been almost funny if it weren't for the pinch of fear Whitehorse held for the young Seed opposite him. "We haven’t been able to find any government records on you since your departure to Montana.” It was true. All the government had on the Seeds since the birth of the cult were redacted FBI files and sparse witness testimonies from Whitehorse's own files. </span> </p><p><span>“Earl,” John's eerily soft eyes leisurely drifted up from the Sheriff’s name tag, “I’m quite well knowledged on the laws of my own country. As a lawyer, myself," a chuckle tickled the air, "I don’t need you explaining them to me.” Parted lips slowly molding a warming smile, John's handsome features smoothed over. “</span><em><span>Call me John.</span></em><span>” </span> </p><p><span>The young herald was stalling and this interview was getting tiresome. ”Well, John, Once more, we have reason to believe you held a police deputy against her will and assaulted her multiple times, not only from the physical evidence left on her body but from radio calls </span><em><span>you</span></em><span> made, confirmin' what you’d done,” It was difficult not to heave a sigh at how infuriating John had been since the second Whitehorse stepped in here. He was perplexingly talkative for a lawyer.  </span> </p><p><span>“But you don’t have any recordings do you?”  </span> </p><p><span>“Another police deputy has-“ </span> </p><p><span>“-Told you what she thinks she heard.” Not a moment spared to be accused, it was like John knew what Whitehorse was going to say before he'd even thought it.  </span> </p><p><span>“There was a broadcast of you assaultin' one of my deputies.” Whitehorse's patience was wearing thin. John was blatantly aware of what he'd done, maybe he just enjoyed wasting the Sheriff's time with useless arguing. </span> </p><p><span>“Did you listen to the broadcast, Sheriff?” No, he hadn't. The Rookie had told him about it, and he trusted her, but that didn't stop John from talking him into a corner.  </span> </p><p><span>“We're currently examining the evidence as we speak.” This wasn't going anywhere. Placing his hand over the ID badge abandoned on the table, Whitehorse was ready to leave, when cutting words chained him to his seat. </span> </p><p><span>“Deputy Hudson consented.” John's cold voice seized Whitehorse where he sat. There was a distant barking outside as John's icy hues held the sheriff firmly in their grasp.  </span> </p><p><span>The Sheriff dug a digit into the table in front of his prisoner “You used force to coerce her into consent.” his voice crackled from years of smoking.  </span> </p><p><span>“I explained the terms of confession," There was a metallic crack as John pressed his bound hands into the cold tabletop "</span><b><em><span>a religious practice</span></em></b><span>," each syllable rolled off his tongue immaculately, "I explained how it would involve pain; I then asked </span><em><span>your</span></em><em><span>little deputy</span></em><span> if she wishes to confess; to which she obliged, ‘yes’.” There was a discordant innocence to John's eyes. The two were inches away. John was bound and Whitehorse wasn't. All it took was one bullet... </span> </p><p><span>This was over.  </span> </p><p><span>Whitehorse sprung from his seat, “Thank you for your time, Mr Duncan-“ He needed to leave. </span><span>He'd been fighting for his county long enough to know when to stop.</span> </p><p><span>“I suggest you read up on the federal laws of religious liberty before our next meeting” John's voice echoed through the bars as Whitehorse locked the cell door. The echo followed him down the corridor as a familiar face caught up with Earl.  </span> </p><p><span>"So?" Rook quizzed.</span> </p><p><span>The sheriff shook his head, placing his hat back over dishevelled hair. This wasn't going to be easy.  </span> </p><p>
  
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><span>It had been two months since they'd killed Faith Seed and taken back the Henbane, the same two months since they'd began their work in the Holland Valley. The Sheriff wasn't getting any younger and the number of fatalities to the cult wasn't getting any smaller. It was only this morning when they'd managed to take out John at the church in Falls End. A lucky bullet from The Pastor's concealed revolver had John just where they wanted him, a bullet in the leg, on the ground. But now the clock was ticking. It was only a matter of time until the cultists advanced on them to take their Herald back. This interrogation had to be swift. They had to get what they needed from John. </span> </p><p><span>"How's Joey?" Whitehorse paced into the infirmary followed by Rook, met with a sigh from Tracey.  </span> </p><p><span>"She's asleep right now," Tracey stepped from the curtain encasing Hudson's bed with a semi-hushed tone, "</span><b><span>crashing</span></b><span> the car she was being transported in probably didn't help her condition"  </span> </p><p><span>"At least she's out" Rook offered, seating herself on an empty bed adjacent to Hudson's. </span> </p><p><span>"She said anythin' more about that bastard John Seed?" Whitehorse was impatient, understandable regarding how a whole army of peggies could come knocking on that door any second. </span> </p><p><span>"Actually" A frown drifted over Tracey's hooded face, "More about Joseph Seed. She kept calling him a sick piece of shit." </span> </p><p><span>"Nothin' at all about John?" Whitehorse pressed. Glancing over to Tracey, Rook shared a confused look with her friend.  </span> </p><p><span>With a shake of her head, Tracey crossed the room to grab a seat for herself, "Not really, but she's pretty goddamn out of it right now."  </span> </p><p><span>"But he definitely did that to her" Both the Sheriff and Tracey turned to face Rook with an inquisitive look. Aside from Hudson, she was the one who knew John Seed best, sometimes it was easy to forget that. Does anyone really know John Seed? "He threatened to hurt her a lot." She felt defensive being the only alibi Joey had, "Could have just been threats, but-" </span> </p><p><span>"</span><b><span>Of course he did</span></b><span>." Whitehorse cut her off, relief sinking into Rook's body, "And that’s why we need to get everything we can out of him." </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>The Resistance could only allow for a brief break before continuing their interrogation of John. In Hope County, rest was sparse and it was hard to take time to think or relax when you're never far from the enemy. Sometimes planning was overlooked and they were all guilty of diving straight into missions with no plan, but this time, they weren't going to be making any mistakes. Closing a filing cabinet with a firm click, Whitehorse turned to face his people. </span> </p><p><span>"We're gonna offer him a plea." Closing in the distance between himself and Rook, in an attempt hush his voice, the older continued "We'll tell him he'll face a lighter sentence if he gives up information about Joseph and Edens Gate." It sounded crazy after all John had done to Hudson. Rook opened her mouth to protest when Whitehorse stopped her. "He'll be exonerated of the kidnapping charge against Deputy Hudson. Nothin' else." It was clear from the look on Rook's face that this wasn't a savory plan. "It's what we gotta do, Rook." She couldn't protest. This was the Sheriff's final decision, and what he says goes.  </span> </p><p><span>Marching towards the cell they were holding John in, Whitehorse took a deep breath. It was all in his hands, this whole operation. If Hope County weren't in such dire need, maybe he'd have retired months ago, but that wasn't what was important. Right now he had to live in the moment, do what was best for his deputies. Whatever it takes to right the wrongs being committed all over </span><b><span>his</span></b><span> county. </span> </p><p><span>Reaching for his keys, Whitehorse kept in the zone. Now wasn't the time to be psyched out by this religious nut.  </span> </p><p><span>"Have you reconsidered?" John uttered, cockily predicting the purpose of Whitehorse's visit. The Sheriff had only just stepped in here, how could John already be onto them? </span> </p><p><span>"No." Earl dismissed, </span><em><span>yes</span></em><span>, he thought. "I'm not here to discuss the crimes you've committed personally John." That sounds an awful lot like a reconsidering... "We'd like to discuss your brother's cult. Any information you give us will lessen the sentence we place on you." As the deal departed his brain, Whitehorse felt a wave of confidence flow over him, it felt like he could actually be on the path to get his county back. Standing, arms held behind his back, with a large chest pumped out in front of him, he felt for the first time that now, he had the higher ground. </span> </p><p><span>There was a pause, consideration gracing the face of the herald. His ajar lips softly articulated to allow words to pass through, "I'm afraid you don't have the grounds to hold me here." John was in no place to talk about violating rights. </span> </p><p><span>"We have enough evidence to lock you up for life" Whitehorse had to keep his cool, he had to do the right thing, "But we won't do that if you exchange your insight into Eden's Gate with us." It took everything in his power to hold onto the feelings bubbling up inside of him, this man had hurt his people, he should pay for what he's done. </span> </p><p><span>Another excruciating pause hit the room. "So you believe I'd jeopardise the future of both my brothers and the project for some </span><em><span>false arrest?</span></em><span>" Raising an eyebrow, John studied the Sheriff, he could practically smell the feigned confidence. He could read people better than he could read any book, and this one was open right in front of him.  </span> </p><p><span>"This is not a false arrest!" The Sheriff's voice was raised, the bass of his Montana accent bouncing off the hollow walls.  </span> </p><p><span>"You don't have the staff to operate as law enforcement anymore, Earl." A sympathetic sigh departed John's mouth, "You can't even contact the State D</span><span>epartment" There was a clank of his handcuffs as the younger gesticulated with an apathetic laugh, "Don't you think you're just a</span><em><span> little</span></em><span> out of your depth?" </span> </p><p><span>Hurtling forward to grab John by the collar, creating a brutal wind that stormed through the room, Earl huffed a roar at the peggie in his grip, "You're lucky we don't blow your fuckin' brains out. People like you deserve to rot in prison!" A fist suddenly struck the wall of John's cheek, knocking the air out of his compressed lungs and burning a graze into his cheekbone.  </span> </p><p><span><strong>Fuck the plea</strong>, now there was no turning back. </span> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing funnier than seeing John's reaction to 'John Duncan'. Also, watch out for Earl "Badass" Whitehorse.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Crooked Law</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The interrogation continues, but John's got one request.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span><strong>16 hours remaining.</strong> </span><span>There was silence and mutual indignation, a clandestine standoff. Impatient footsteps paced to and thro. Still Nothing</span> </p><p><span><strong>12 hours remaining</strong>. Stern words were exchanged. "</span><em><span>Do the right thing</span></em><span>" a mature voice plead. Denial seeped onto the carved face of the baptist. A tension scratched through the air.</span> </p><p><span><strong>8 hours remaining.</strong> Booming shouts had begun flying down the empty corridor. "Are you proud of what you've created? Proud of your band of </span><em><span>sinners?" </span></em><b><span>Crack</span></b><span>,</span><span> chair legs clattered to the ground.</span> <br/>
<span>"Give up, it's over!"</span> </p><p><span><strong>4 hours remaining.</strong> Another resistance member walked down those cold stairs back to the Sheriff with eyes that said 'we haven't won yet.' Eyes that read, 'what if we never do'</span> </p><p><span><strong>2 hours remaining.</strong> "</span><b><span>Bring me the Junior Deputy.</span></b><span>" "</span><b><span>Then I'll talk.</span></b><span>" </span> <br/>
<span>A key penetrated the lock on that cell door. Footsteps receded and landed at the entrance to the canteen. "Deputy Alcott." Rook turned to face Whitehorse, whose frame was hunched and withered from the head down. "We need you."</span> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em><span>Who the fuck invented sudoku? It's meant to be a boredom killer, but all it's doing is killing me with boredom.</span></em><span> Rook pushed the battered magazine in front of her to one side, turning over her right wrist to inspect her watch. </span> </p><p><span>Sometimes it felt powerless being a junior deputy, like you're either trying to prove yourself constantly, or you're always last in line for everything. Hope County had proven to be the first option for her, well, most of the time. Fighting in the Henbane was a whole different world for her, seeing the dead bodies of anonymous people who'd been drugged into a whole new realm. They didn't even look human. And Faith Seed. Leaning on her watch-bearing arm, Rook clicked her pen in deep thought. Faith was almost as clueless as those 'angels' she'd created. It was a sick miracle that she'd lived as long as she did. </span><em><span>Poor girl. </span></em><span>She thought, </span><em><span>poor murderous girl. </span></em><span>Probably not far from her age either. </span> </p><p><span>Shaking off the waves flowing through her brain, a presence beside her pulled Rook back into the present. </span> </p><p><span>"Workin' hard, or hardly workin'?" </span> </p><p><span>"Nick!" Rook flew from her seat and threw herself into a familiar bear hug around her friend. "What're you doing here?"</span> </p><p><span>At the light wince of pressure against the raw skin on his chest, Rook let go of her companion. "I was flyin' over and thought I'd drop in and say hi." </span> </p><p><span>"-and you heard John Seed was here."</span> </p><p><span>"Yeah, and I heard that fucker John Seed was here" Nick echoed sheepishly, lifting his sunglasses off his face. </span> </p><p><span>"I'm sorry-" Natalia begun</span> </p><p><span>"Hey, dep, it's nothin'" The older brushed off with a brave smile that told of the pain he and his family had already endured since the day the Seeds had walked into their lives. "Better than that chicken scratch tattoo anyway." Nick's positive attitude was one of the few things that kept Rook going at times like these, even if they were all just laughing through the misery sometimes. "So uh-" Nick settled on the edge of the cheap canteen bench, "What's goin' on with John?" </span> </p><p><span>Shrugging as she joined her companion on the bench, Rook had to admit she had no clue "I'm not sure..." Leaning weakly on the table, it was clear that everyone in the canteen had been here for a while, all waiting for some kind of news. "I shouldn't tell you this, but the Sheriff tried to offer a plea-" </span><span>Grabbing at the table, Nick's mouth flew open to argue, before Rook managed to hold him, "I said </span><em><span>tried!" </span></em> </p><p><span>"Why the fuck you offerin' him anything?" Nick was right, but it wasn't her decision.</span> </p><p><span>"Honestly-" Rook leant in a little closer to conceal her words from anyone who might be listening "I don't think the Sheriff would've followed through with it." The hand she was leaning on drifted to form a shield over her mouth, "We're not exactly operating inside the law anymore. Not since, you know, killing all those angels, and Faith..." She lamented. A thoughtful air drifted over Nick as he listened to the clandestine words fleeing Rook's mouth. </span> </p><p><span>"S'long as you know what you're dealing with, Dep." The pilot's arms folded, his eyeline travelling to the door where loud shouts in the distance could be heard, "Make sure you give that sonuvabitch what he deserves"  </span> </p><p><span>As Nick departed, the monotonous ticking in her head reset. How long had it been now? More than twelve hours, surely. It was difficult to tell if it was night or day even. The fact that peggie gunshots hadn't struck the walls already was a miracle. </span> </p><p><span>"Deputy Alcott" A voice projected behind her, unravelling her from her thoughts. "We need you." </span><em><span>Me? </span></em><span>He missed the 'Junior' Rook thought as she stood to attention. </span> </p><p><em><span>What exciting paperwork do I have to complete now? </span></em><span>"Sheriff?" Rook stood awaiting her orders but none came, only the beckon of Whitehorse's arm instructed her. He was leading her to those stairs. </span> </p><p><span>The barred door to the canteen shut, but this time she was on the other side of it. A sigh huffed through Whitehorse's lips. "Natalia..." It was never good when Whitehorse used her real name, she'd learnt that over the last few months. It was like when a parent yelled your full name as you wrestled with your sibling, as if different names held more power. "We've come to a deadlock." </span><em><span>We, he said 'we', who's we? </span></em><span>"We haven't got long 'til the peggies come knocking." He looked like he would disintegrate any moment, like the air would be knocked out of him by the smallest breeze. "</span><b><span>John Seed has asked for you.</span></b><span>" </span><em><span>Oh.</span></em> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>Stalking up each frozen steel step, her heart had begun to strike in her mouth. Images of her time in Holland Valley rattled in her head. It was all up to her in this moment to free a fourth of a county's worth of people. Why was it that she – the Junior Deputy - ended up in these positions? It was like some sick joke. Images of John flashed through her mind like a mental preparation for the prisoner she was about to confront. They were </span><span>obscured by a mist that she couldn't quite place.</span> </p><p><em><span>Swaying with the imperfections of the road. Peaceful, his head rocking at the uneven road surface... Only a few hours ago. Unconscious, he'd lost his presence. Just a man with etched flesh and a bullet wound to the leg, on the road to a dilapidated prison.</span></em><span>She didn't have to make conversation with him then; she wish she didn't have to now. Their conversations used to be one sided, John talking at her, only asking for a single word in response, </span><em><span>Just One Word, </span></em><span>he'd explain. Now she was going to be doing the talking. </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>The cell was a lonesome one at the end of the dark second floor corridor. It smelt dank and metallic as Rook drew closer until her face met with vertical bars encasing a worn cultist inside them. </span><span>John's head was lowered like he was conserving energy, hibernating for their next skirmish. Drapes of muddied dark brown hair shielded his worn face and his vest sat crooked upon his dropped shoulders. There it was again. </span><em><span>Peaceful. </span></em> </p><p><span>Cranking the cell door open, Rook saw as John's neck slowly shifted upwards to allow their eyes to meet.</span><span>"I was wondering when they were going to finally send you in..." The corners of his lips lightly elevated as his beguiling blue eyes traced her across the room, one burdened by the weight of a deep black bruise sat under his eye lid, tracing across his nose. </span><span>"</span><em><span>...Little Miss Wrath</span></em><span>" A low voice oozed. </span> </p><p><span>Flying across the shaded cell, Rook passed an upturned table as she neared The Baptist's exposed chair and sent a fist directly into the cave of his right cheek, a crack erupting from his cheekbone. </span><em><span>Stay calm. </span></em><span>Rook swallowed trying her hardest to watch him as John dripped some blood on the floor from between his split lips. </span> </p><p><span>Groaning faintly, keeled over, John’s shoulder blades created ridges in his blue shirt as they seized.</span> </p><p><em><span>Calm and cool, </span></em><span>Rook thought.</span><span>She needed to put him in his place. She needed to take her power back. </span><em><span>The Peggie fuck needs to know where we stand. </span></em> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, gathering himself back up to his seated position, like a broken marionette, John huffed a brisk laugh, "Whatever happened to serve and protect?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Breaking from John's gaze, Rook felt a twist deep in her core, a lurch of insecurity. </span><em><span>He's right, what are we doing? </span></em><span>Almost uncontrollably, Rook's eyes darted across John, abrasions, cuts and bruises, they all decorated him like a wounded dog. Then to the cell, chair legs, an upturned table and a smattering of blood at John's feet. This was their making. </span><span>Another drip of crimson bought her back into the room. </span><em><span>No, this was John's making. </span></em><span>"</span><b><span>Fuck you.</span></b><span>" He wasn't about to get in her mind, and he wasn't about to play her against herself. </span> </p><p><span>Pivoting to face Whitehorse on the other side of the bars, Rook could see the disillusion in Whitehorse's eyes and only offered him what she could in response, an expression of: 'Can you believe this' with the tiniest hint of 'What that fuck have I gotten myself into?' She hoped the last one wasn't as obvious. As she steadied her breath, Rook bolted the lock shut and placed the keys back into her pocket, ready to meet with the young Seed again, this time she won't lose.</span> </p><p><span>John's heavy eyes explored Rook's form as she readjusted her posture to hold her head higher in an attempt to grab some confidence, "Give up, Deputy" the Baptist sing-songed. </span> </p><p><span>Natalia broke his mockery, moving closer to force her shadow over him, "Why should I do shit for you?" A dusting of emotion peppered her words as the question broke. What followed was silence, only broken by a few solemn, semi-breathless chuckles. </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>The tension between them was almost suffocating as a questioning look invaded John's cold face. "Beating information out of me?" He tilted his head, considering his words, sniffing at the blood weaving its way from his nostrils, "Did you really think that would work?" A darkness flooded his eyes. </span><em><span>Judgement. </span></em><span>It</span><span>was a judgement that seized deep in her throat. </span> </p><p><span>"Of course I could always </span><em><span>lie" </span></em><span>His injured face smoothed over, "Tell you </span><em><span>exactly what you want to hear" </span></em><span>John gulped down the blood presumably working its way down the back of his throat before taking a deep inhale, "But what help would that be?" </span> </p><p><span>Natalia parted her lips in preparation to speak, but nothing came out. She felt choked. That's all they'd done the last 24 hours, tried to beat him into submission... Her hands fidgeted behind her back. What else were they supposed to do? </span><em><span>He deserves it. </span></em><span>"You need to understand-" The law enforcement slipped back into her voice-</span> </p><p><span>"I do." He cut her off.</span> </p><p><span>"I know what drives you. It's a sin that dictates your every decision" The baptist readjusted himself within the confines of his binds, "I know what it </span><em><span>feels</span></em><span> like. You think it'll make you feel better: Revenge." </span><em><span>Justice, </span></em><span>she thought, </span><em><span>it's justice. </span></em><span>"You think it makes you a hero" John's eyebrow lifted followed by a delicate chortle that fled his scratched throat. </span> </p><p><span>He wanted her to lash out, she could see it in his eyes. It took every spec of blood in her body not to give in to exactly what he wanted. "I guess we're not so different then." She hoped those words sounded genuine. </span><em><span>We're nothing alike. </span></em><span>Whitehorse's confusion was almost audible as he spectated. It felt like being back at police academy. </span> </p><p><span>John kept a poker face that she so desperately wanted to crack. "Tell me, are you afraid of death, Deputy?" His words drifted upwards softly as though he were soothing her. </span> <br/>
<span>Looking across his array of injuries, Natalia shook her head bitterly, "Clearly you aren't." </span> </p><p><span>Sighing calmly, John settled into his seat, "I'm a man of faith. I pledged my life to The Project."</span> </p><p><span>All Natalia could do was stare back at the man in front of her. </span><em><span>Faith, </span></em><span>she thought. </span><em><span>Nothing about this place is even close to holy. </span></em><span>The metallic smell currently coating the cell leaking into her nostrils. The 'Holy' man in front of her was a murderer, not a saint. "That's bullshit." Natalia retorted, "It's not faith, it's recklessness"</span> </p><p><span>"Reckless is he with nothing to lose." John preached, his entire nature no longer defensive. Looking onwards, confused, Natalia felt something spark deep within her. This was the first time he'd spewed something other than a threat. It felt like honesty, but</span><span>there was no way he'd got 'nothing to lose'. </span> </p><p><span>"You've got everything to lose, John." Rook's voice softened as she regarded him with intrigue, attempting not to stir the wild animal within him.</span> </p><p><span>"I'm merely a cog in the great machinery of Joseph's Project. I'm here to serve a purpose." His tone was cold, but not like the icy chill of his severe threats that Natalia was usually met with, but instead an air of reflective distance and calm. </span> </p><p><span>Watching John's increasingly settled manner, Natalia knew she had to be careful with her words. </span><em><span>We're getting somewhere. </span></em><span>"You've got your brothers to lose..." It was a threat, a perfectly passive and underhand one, but a threat nonetheless.</span> </p><p><span>"Do you really expect me to drag my brothers down with me?" His eyes, they looked genuinely confused, </span><em><span>confronted. </span></em> </p><p><span>"What if we captured them? Like you," she tipped her head to gesture at John's cuffs, "</span><em><span>What if they died?</span></em><span>" </span> </p><p><span>Indignation ignited behind John's eyes, "Then show me them captured" His voice raised,</span><em><span> "</span></em><b><span>Show me their bodies</span></b><span>" The words crashed into the walls, booming from his chest, cuffs cracking as he lurched forward in his chair, The wild flame that his body had become levelled towards her. </span> </p><p><span>Taking a step back, Natalia's hand instinctively ghosted to her pistol, the force of John's roar tensed her muscles. "We will get information." Her heartbeat became like a macabre rhythm in her ears.</span> </p><p><span>"No" John tossed a cynical laugh, "No you won't." The tendons around his temples tensed as his jaw tightened at the end of his quip. </span> </p><p><span>Clawing reflexively at her holster, Natalia gripped her pistol and lined it up with J</span><span>ohn's head.</span> </p><p><span>Pounding at her chest, her heart felt like a trapped insect. The Sheriff behind her shuffled in his place. </span><em><span>Give in</span></em><em><span>, </span></em><span>she thought, gripping the handle. </span><em><span>Give up. </span></em><span>Sitting up in his seat, John tilted his head up to capture Natalia's face with his own eyes, forcing Natalia to step closer in order to keep the barrel of her pistol flush to his skin. </span> </p><p><span>First she saw John indulge in her right eye, his blue hues devouring hers, </span><em><span>unafraid</span></em><span>. Her hand tensed around the pistol grip. Then, something flickered across his face as he looked to her left and then back. </span><em><span>Searching, hunting. </span></em><span>Her finger vibrated on the trigger with the tremors of her body.</span><span>His e</span><span>yes d</span><span>rifting across her tensed cheeks, to her lips and back up, Natalia could feel her breath shudder against the wall of her throat, holding back whatever emotions were attempting to break out. The gun felt nailed into her hand, painful and heavy.</span> <br/>
 <br/>
<span>"</span><em><span>Be a hero, Natalia" </span></em><span>the words seeped through her mind and her soul, her focus was so tight that it was unclear whether the words were even spoken by John or not. Her arm felt like it was going dead and there was a light metallic tap behind her. </span> </p><p> </p><p><em><span>He's no use dead. </span></em> </p><p> </p><p><span>Tightly lowering her arm, Natalia felt a cold wave flow through her veins. She seated the pistol back in its resting place and silence befell the solitary room.</span> </p><p><span>"I had people like me in confession." The voice coming out of John was lowered and deeper than before, a tone of privacy lacing it as he sat forward, slightly caving on himself. "The one percent... They're useless. They're the bodies you saw in my bunker." John explained, a natural, self-contained flow to his voice, not like a man who just had a gun pointed at his head. "Don’t confess?..." The words trailed off, as though Natalia should complete his sentence. </span><em><span>You die. </span></em><span>The images of those plastic-wrapped bodies echoed at the back of her brain. </span> </p><p><em><span>Useless</span></em><span>, </span><span>she thought, "You said useless." </span> </p><p><span>An exasperated sigh ensued, "Useless at </span><em><span>confession, </span></em><span>deputy." He condescended in what she assumed was his natural voice, something she wasn't used to through all the preachings and threats she'd been directed with. "They had no place in The Project."</span> </p><p><span>"And you do?" </span> </p><p><span>John's lips parted, but no words were communicated other than those of his minutely raised eyebrows, "Why don't you go ahead and ask Joseph." </span><em><span>What the hell does he mean by that? </span></em><span>She quizzically examined his intonation before observing an unsettling shift in John's demeanour </span><span>"Just know," The Baptist continued, tearing her from her thoughts, an eerie façade slowly creeping over him once more, "It's only a matter of time before he sends a whole army over here to come and get me." His tongue toyed with a few words, an arrogance began filling him top full, "If you're lucky" a gentle smile tugged at his lips, </span><span>"You might even get a little face-to-face time."</span> </p><p><span>Breaking her attention away from John's words, Natalia felt something lightly glide by her foot, only realising as she looked down that John's boot had covertly slid against her own.</span> </p><p><span>She hadn't moved away since she had a pistol to his head. It was only apparent to her now how close they were as she stamped against his foot in shock, reaching for his collar to grab him in a red mist, ready to strike him again. </span><em><span>Stop playing these fucking games </span></em><span>she bit back an exasperated sob. "</span><em><span>Fuck you...</span></em><span>" It felt so helpless. </span> </p><p><span>John choked a laugh, "You're not a fast learner" shaking his head in dismay, his hair lightly glided over the left side of his forehead as he struggled against her pull.</span> </p><p><span>"</span><b><span>Rook</span></b><span>." A voice boomed behind her, dropping her of her grip on John. </span> <br/>
<span>They'd run out of time, and she fucked up. </span><em><span>Fuck </span></em><span>she faltered where she stood taking a step back, her chest heavy, </span><em><span>Fuck. </span></em><span>A hand ran over her hair as she turned away from John. She couldn't look at him. </span><em><span>This can't be the end. </span></em> </p><p><span>Whitehorse opened the cell to let her out, her eyes dropping to the ground. It felt like defeat and she hated every inch of it. Resting a hand on her shoulder, Whitehorse attempted to reassure her as they departed down the hall. </span><em><span>I'll give him something to live for.</span></em> </p><p> </p><p><span>"</span><span>This isn't over.</span><span>"</span><em><span>It's only just begun. </span></em> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Presenting your Junior Deputy: Natalia Alcott! I hope you like her as we'll be seeing a lot more of her from now on ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Achilles and the Poison Arrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Now that time is up, it looks like it's time for Plan B. <br/>The Resistance won't let John Seed get away that easily.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>"Sheriff, we've got word a convoy's approaching the Henbane."</span> </p>
<p><span>Less than an hour remained and John Seed was still within their possession. They were in no shape for a high-scale battle in the prison; if it was anything like the collateral they incurred fighting Faith off, it would mean too many more causalities for them, they couldn't keep losing people for the sake of winning. Killing John was no longer a choice, it was too late. </span> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>"Rook, what happened?" Whitehorse accused, dabbing some sweat from his brow. It was less what and more </span><em><span>why? </span></em> </p>
<p><span>Brushing a hand through her hair as they marched to the central canteen, Rook frowned, "He won't give anything up because he knows his men are coming" She didn't want to talk about aiming a pistol at John's head, about the blood on her fist or the wringing sensation in her stomach. </span> </p>
<p><span>"Well you must've got something from that conversation." The Sheriff opened the barred door to allow Rook through in front of him, "-He specifically asked for you, Rook." </span> </p>
<p><span>Like a group impulse, as they entered the room, the resistance were drawn to the two: Junior Deputy and Sheriff. They broke from their conversations and rose from their seats, all because they must've heard the news: They're tens of minutes away from an attack. </span> </p>
<p><span>"We've got no choice but to let John go for now." A stillness imparted on the room as those words were spoken. It was the first news so many of them had heard in hours. They expected something closer to The Baptist finally cracking, or maybe a reached deal, even the news of his death. But this? This wasn't the news to fill this county with hope. </span> </p>
<p><span>Pacing towards once side of the room, like a great speaker addressing his people, Earl continued by explaining his brackish idea, "It'll save us from havin' to lose more people defendin' these walls." </span><em><span>Protection. Protection for his people</span></em><span>. Just as heads began to lower and footsteps began to shuffle, Whitehorse halted the movement:</span><span> "</span><b><span>But it ain't over.</span></b><span>" The words were bold</span><b><span>.</span></b><span> "We're just gonna have to work towards Joseph from a different angle."</span> </p>
<p><span>Stapling a large sheet of paper to the wall, the Sheriff turned to address Natalia. "Give me some facts" The word 'Plan' was scribbled at the top of the sheet on a slant. It was time to brainstorm their new route. </span><em><span>Plan B. </span></em> </p>
<p><span>Folding her arms, Rook steered towards the table holding the Sheriff's notes. "John knows the most about the cult. He knows the inner workings."</span> </p>
<p><span>"So we need him?" Tracey called out in response, "What about Jacob?" </span> </p>
<p><span>"Jacob Seed's an animal. The man's a fuckin' enigma" Whitehorse put a line through Jacob's name on the large sheet. "We go through </span><em><span>John </span></em><span>to get to </span><em><span>Joseph</span></em><span>." </span> </p>
<p><span>Tossing the brown folder next to the Sheriff, Rook racked her brains, "What do we know about John then? What has he got to lose?" The Sheriff scrawled a subheading of </span><em><span>'WEAKNESS?'</span></em><span> down the left margin. </span> </p>
<p><em><span>Think Talia, think... </span></em><span>"Well obviously he cares about his brothers, that's something he can lose" It was a poor idea and she knew it, they've been over this. They're going to go through John, no more said. Whitehorse paused in thought, his pen hung back from the paper.</span> </p>
<p><span>"He's an ex-lawyer. He's got lots of possessions and he still does. There must be something that he cares about?" </span><span>The room fell into a thoughtful silence, only a few voices popping up, 'Ranch', 'Plane' scattered across the room until all eyes fell on Rook. </span> </p>
<p><span>Placing her hand over her mouth thoughtfully, Rook knew she needed to say something, </span><em><span>she</span></em><span> was the one they fell back on. It was always her... "Did Hudson say anything?" Rook queried, voice poor in power. </span> </p>
<p><span>Tracey lowered her head, the painful pace of the room sliced through them, as the Sheriff reached for the folder beside him. "No, Dep." Tracey admitted, unlike herself.</span> </p>
<p><span>The sound of shuffling papers wafted through the air and the attention turned on Whitehorse instead, stood with his back to the '</span><em><span>Plan', </span></em><span>brown folder in hand. "</span><em><span>Ex-addict..</span></em><span>." He read, slowly looking upwards in realization. </span> </p>
<p><span>Diving towards the Sheriff, Rook lit up. There it was, </span><b><span>a weakness</span></b><span>, it felt like they could breathe  again as indistinct radio chatter played behind them. "We could get him to relapse?"</span> </p>
<p><span>"How, Rook?" The Sheriff's pen scratched eagerly at the paper, mirroring her words. Energy coursing from his mind to his hand. </span> </p>
<p><span>Thinking on her feet, Natalia stood back to take in the sheet of paper, her mind scrambled with great new possibilities, "An undercover mission. If we supply him and he relapses, or even better, becomes dependent, he won't be able to control anything, let alone keep a secret." It sounded crazy. Just the right kind of crazy coming from a Rookie cop without the years of droll, passionless work to muddy her creativity. This was thinking outside the box. </span> </p>
<p><span>Tearing himself from the paper, the Sheriff looked stunned, "It's gonna be dangerous-" </span> </p>
<p><span>"We've been on the edge of death for months," Tracey stepped forward to join Rook's side, "</span><em><span>We know danger." </span></em> </p>
<p><span>Slipping the file from under Whitehorse's arm as he focused on writing, Rook scanned to the page titled </span><em><span>'John'</span></em><span>, the name </span><em><span>'John </span></em><em><span>Duncan' </span></em><span>hand-written below in brackets, something she hadn't heard before. Running her finger down, she came across a bullet-pointed section under the title </span><em><span>'Addiction' </span></em><span>followed by the listed words: </span> <br/><em><span>'Class A drugs', </span></em> <br/><em><span>'Alcohol', </span></em> <br/><em><span>'Sex'</span></em> </p>
<p><span>Lingering over the words, Rook hummed, her movements caught before she closed the book to return to the Sheriff. "Drugs and alcohol..." Rook projected, her sentence cut short. </span><em><span>Just drugs and alcohol...</span></em><span> There was an omission that Whitehorse paid no mind to as he wrote down Natalia's words.</span> </p>
<p><span>Scribbling the last few words, Whitehorse swiveled to face the resistance, "Two of you knock John out and take him outside, dump him as far from here as you can, but not too close to that Peggie convoy" A man and a woman dressed in plain clothes, both with either rifle or shotgun strapped to their back exited the room, "We need to get to him in a more covert way" The Sheriff nodded to Rook as though to acknowledge her idea.</span> </p>
<p><span>"We'll aim at relapsing him, on his own turf, that way, we'll get him to speak." Rook turned around to address the same group of people.</span> </p>
<p><span>"So who'll-" Earl began, his words trapped by an interruption</span> </p>
<p><span>"Sheriff, they're comin' past the truckstop!" A voice called as a lean man darted across the room with a radio in his head, bearing it in front of him for Whitehorse.</span> </p>
<p><span>"Shit." Earl groaned, pulling his radio from his belt.</span> </p>
<p><span>"Sheriff, I'll do it, the mission." Gunshots began rattling across the West side of the prison. Distant shouting rocketing through the Montana breeze. "We don't have time to decide. All I need is heroine and some alcohol, the rest I'll do myself." She chased the Sheriff as he marched towards the central table holding their marked resistance map and radio system, "Hell, I could even get the alcohol myself."</span> </p>
<p><span>Struggling to multi-task, the Sheriff levelled a few orders through his radio before turning to Rook, "And where the hell am I gonna get heroine?" </span> </p>
<p><span>Tracey sighed from across the room behind them before calling over, "I know someone." It was a reluctant confession that Whitehorse had no time to argue with. </span> </p>
<p><span>The three stood in formation around the Sheriff desperately awaiting his final verdict like a judge in court. This was the plan they had forged: An undercover mission to relapse John into releasing the cult's secrets and losing control of himself and his people. They had no idea how they were going to do it, but this was all they had. </span><em><span>Please, Sheriff. </span></em> </p>
<p><span>Pivoting to face them, The Sheriff stole a breath, readjusting his hat. "Fine. I trust you Rook." It was almost like he'd heard her prayers.  "but be careful." Throwing her kit towards her, the Sheriff met her with a sincere expression, "I want you out of this place as quick as you can. Keep us updated. We don't want anymore fatalities on our hands than we already have." His voice told her so much more than his words had. She felt important, not just like the dumb Rookie following behind the real deputies, but one of the team. It was an amazing feeling.</span> </p>
<p><span>"Yes Sheriff." A smile broke across her face as she grabbed her pack and jogged for the door back into the wilderness of Hope County. "Stay safe, Sheriff" She called out, back turned, door sweeping closed behind her. </span> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Sunrise: streaming colors of orange and vibrant blue spilled across the Northern sky. Outside of the prison, small barrels stood alight with a dancing flame that welcomed in morning. She had no clue that night had passed. </span> </p>
<p><span>Sat on the rubble-clad drive of the prison was an old hatchback, painted a metallic yellow hue, a jaunty Hawaiian bobble head sat inside on the dashboard. Jogging hastily to the guard box to pick up the keys, Rook felt the raining of gunfire invade her ears from the west. It was time to go.</span> </p>
<p><span>Wielding her rusted keys, Rook toyed with the mechanism in the drivers' seat door before hopping herself in, backpack thrown to the passenger seat. The smell of hot rubber coated the car as her tires grated on the concrete before her swift departure down the road. </span> </p>
<p><span>To her surprise, with the stutter of the engine as she switched on the ignition, the radio was already on. Swerving her way down the road, a repetitive melody rang free from the tinny radio fitted to her dash. '</span><em><span>Only you' </span></em><span>a male voice lamented over a mellow jazz beat.</span> </p>
<p><span>Crossing a bridge, Rook knew she was getting closer to the convoy as audible voices struck through the air '</span><em><span>for the father</span></em><span>' one called out. The radio was getting annoying, the tempo of this haunting jazz song was at odds with the pace of her heart as she tore down the country roads. </span><em><span>Shut up! </span></em><span>Natalia bashed a fist against the radio, eyes still glued to the road, the singing was replaced by static. Which, arguably, could be considered more annoying than this strange love-sick jazz beat. </span> </p>
<p><span>The morning sun broke through her back window, lighting up the road ahead of her as a roadblock came into sight. </span><em><span>A road block? In the Henbane?</span></em><span> Two cars created a white barricade across the road, a barbed barrier sat at their feet. Next to the roadblock stood 3 peggies and another much larger van to the right of a sign that said 'This is Eden's Gate'. Stamping her foot on the accelerator, Rook knew what she had to do. </span><em><span>Here goes nothing.</span></em> </p>
<p><span>As Rook's car went flying into the roadblock, the no longer static peggie van veered up behind her, a bullet breaking her back windshield. Colliding with the spray painted sign, Natalia felt something jam the right side of her car, sending her hatchback violently spinning to a halt. Braking on the other side of the road block, Rook pulled at her keys to start the car. A stutter sounded from deep within the en</span><span>gine as the van rammed into her trunk, caving in the metallic exterior of her car. She jammed the keys in and out of their slot, pulling them once more, but the car didn't start. Bullets began piercing through the side windows, she had to get out before one of those bullets hit the sweet spot to set this whole car alight. </span> </p>
<p><span>Diving from her seat, Rook crawled around the car to gain her inventory from the passenger seat. Using the car door as cover, she loaded her rifle before recklessly unloading it on the cultists that surrounded her. Her gunfire was almost inaudible as it mixed with the approaching convoy's gunfire and she wasn't even sure if she was shooting anymore. Scrambling for the bank on the side of the road, Rook made sure to get in a last few shorts before she darted into the tree line. Caving over as she caught her breath in a concealed ditch, she heard the cars pass, only one stopping to investigate the wreckage that she'd left. </span> </p>
<p><span>Replacing her rifle in it's harness as she lay in that ditch, Natalia smiled to herself, a big open smile that allowed for her heavy breaths to pass between her lips as her heart settled. By any luck, John was out of the prison by now and that convoy would be turning back to go and save their precious Herald. Unless she heard more from the Sheriff, it would be safe to assume everything was okay. </span> </p>
<p><span>Gaining her footing through the tree cover, Natalia paced herself thoughtfully, clearing her head in the morning breeze. Hope County was nothing like Billings. Billings made Fall's End look like summer camp. Adjusting her ponytail as she found her bearings, Natalia felt like she was becoming more familiar with her surroundings. People talk about time so rigidly, '</span><em><span>it's only been a couple of months' </span></em><span>but since arriving here, she knew that any measure of time meant nothing. A few months at a new job is not the same as a few months living under the jurisdiction of a crazed cult. Every moment she'd spent here was living and breathing her job; a job that she'd wanted for years. She just never imagined it like this. </span><em><span>Small town cop,</span></em><span> she jibed to herself. Before the Seeds, Hope County's biggest problems were probably hunting accidents. </span><em><span>No wonder Whitehorse is struggling so much. </span></em> </p>
<p><span>Her boots crushed fallen leaves as a bright red peered through the trees. It was the bright red of Lorna's truckstop. This was a place she got most of her brisk lunches from: sat in her truck, chowing down on some tinned good as the giant cow sculpture stared longingly at her through tinted windows. </span><em><span>Home sweet home. </span></em><span>Climbing down the bank and past the old employee entrance, Natalia waved at the resistance members stood inside. They were the previous owners before the cult took the truckstop as one of their outposts. Gaining a wave back, Natalia reminisced at how they once joked about renaming it 'Natalia's Snackstop' her stomach rumbled as she pondered the fond memory. It felt good to disregard the infectious evil across this county. Only every once in a while did she pretend to be blind to it. To feel safe for maybe a few hours or minutes as she joked with newfound friends or colleagues. </span> </p>
<p><span>Treading across the gas pumps, she knew she was getting closer to Fall's End. That's where she'd touch base with everyone and hopefully get some alcohol from Mary May. But Natalia's focus was pulled by a large structure in front of her. Sickly green flags ran down some scaffolding, chains and bliss flowers strung up sacrificially. As she drew closer, Natalia saw something. </span> </p>
<p><span>Hanging was a lifeless body. A face smothered by cloth and attached antlers peaking out from their bindings, like an anthropomorphic scarecrow. The arms were ripped from their sockets by a cruel gravity that this departed man has had to face for nearly a week – by the looks of it. A macabre smile of week-old brown blood curved across the muddied bandages, presumably from the blood that must have left his mouth moments before his demise. Meat hooks and chains tangled their way up his torso, cascading across his bound legs. This wasn't dignity. The body was defiled with injuries and defaced with supposed crimes: '</span><em><span>Sinner', 'GREED'. </span></em><span>Even in the eyes of God, this was no treatment of a vessel of life. Dead or not. It took a long time for Natalia to tear her eyes from it, hypothetical scenarios burned through her retinas; '</span><em><span>what ifs' </span></em><span>of her or her friends meeting the same demise. </span> </p>
<p><em><span>Holland Valley, </span></em><span>Rook read as she passed a green sign post cautiously. Crossing the boarder, it was like deja vu as she passed a sign decorated with John's smug face. Her brain transposed the image of him in that cell over the picture and she looked away to pass it quicker. It made her uncomfortable seeing him like that. Maybe it's because she had no idea where he was right now or the implications of what they did to him in the prison. </span><em><span>I don't know... </span></em><span>She thought, shaking off the thoughts to carry on marching towards her destination. </span> </p>
<p><span>Up ahead was a set of cross roads. </span><em><span>Take a left, and you're at Fall's End.</span></em><span> Well the left was currently being patrolled by a whole fleet of Chosen and coupled by the oppressive eye of a deafeningly loud chopper. </span><em><span>Please. </span></em><span>Rook felt like putting her head in her hands and turning back. </span><em><span>Maybe go see Nick? </span></em><span>A car pulled up behind her, sending Natalia hurtling towards the nearest bush. </span><em><span>I could sprint to Fall's End, maybe radio Jerome?</span></em><span> Clicking her radio from her belt, a red flare in her eye blinded her momentarily. </span><em><span>Snipers.</span></em> </p>
<p><span>Bursting from her spot in the bushes, Natalia leaped across a fence and into an agricultural field in the direction of Falls End. Behind her, raised voices boomed and the helicopter started banking. "Fuck," she panted, lungs like an iron weight. Her whole body felt numb with instability. She hadn't slept in hours and her blood pressure was low. "No, no, no!" Rook dived to one side to avoid the striking of the chopper's guns. In front of her was a small white mill. It could provide some protection for just a moment if she was careful. Ripping her rifle out, a strap got torn on her shoulder as she ducked behind the wooden frame. Red chosen soldiers formed a stampede headed directly for her. She had to move again.</span> </p>
<p><span>To her left she could see the distant Fall's End church where she'd only been - now - yesterday. If she sprinted, she could make it there in a matter of minutes. Flying out from the bullet-torn structure, Natalia hurled herself in the direction of Fall's End. Adrenaline coursed through her and she knew that if she stopped, she'd probably pass out. So </span><em><span>keep going. </span></em><span>Bullets whistled as they chased her, an almost invisible green mist dotting a few of them. When a single bullet hit her in the neck.</span> </p>
<p><span>Natalia kept running as the pain in her neck was imperceptible. How did it not hurt? Reaching a hand to hold her neck, Rook noticed her vision form deep waves. The light in front of her suddenly became too bright and almost twinkled until it completely disappeared and her body landed lifelessly on the crisp ground.</span> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uh oh looks like those weren't any old bullets dep just got shot with. <br/>Wherever she wakes up, it isn't gonna be pretty! Or is it? ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Turntable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rook wakes up after being hit by a bliss bullet to see a very familiar face. It's an awfully bad time to be back in the hands of the Seeds since... Wait, how long ago was it?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Click</em>, her eyes felt like they were burning, her head heavy as it hung from her shoulders, unable to move from its limp position. Her whole body was weak with a light tingling that pricked at her skin. </p><p><em>Dark, concrete floor, chair, I'm sat down.</em> Rook observed as fast as she could, her training with how to react in unfamiliar situations, such as this, taking hold of her mind. <em>My </em><em>shoes are worn through the heel, I must've been dragged – rope, there's rope on this chair, shoes, black leather shoes.</em> She followed them up as far as her eyes allowed, <em>dark jeans, hands – those hands-</em> </p><p>"Well, look how the tables have turned." a voice scolded softly from the depths of the dark room followed by the sound of a light tick of the tongue. "I would say I'm surprised, but-" That laugh, it burned her ears, leaving a faint ringing sound obstructing her mind, "I wouldn't want to indulge you."  </p><p>The rhythmic footsteps receded from her vision succeeded by the shrill scraping of metal on concrete that sent a poisoning chill down her spine. "So Deputy, how have you been?" <em>John Fucking Seed</em> she knew that voice from anywhere, those words, that <em>tone.</em> <em>How long have I been out of it? What does he mean how have I been? It's only been a few hours...</em> </p><p>Trying with all the strength she could fuse together within her motionless body to lift her head up, Rook could only muster a brief twitch. Fear struck through her blood, her predicament only made more terrifying by her inability to even seen her captor "Look at me when I'm talking to you" John whined, his tone was a childlike moan, like a toddler denied his toys.  </p><p>Hurtling towards her a hand locked across her throat and Rook felt her body shock back to life "<b>Look at me!!</b>" A crash echoed across the bunker, presumably the sound of John's chair flying backwards during his attack, rattling the room.  </p><p>Following the tensed, vascular arm up from her throat, now she could see his face. The abrasions that sat on his cheeks in Natalia's recent memory were nothing more than a shadow of what they once were. His clothes were clean, free from the deep staining that inked his shirt back in The Henbane. And finally, his eyes were a wild fire, only one baby blue caught in the lamplight, creating a translucent beam through his iris, a beam that revealed the wild ocean of torment sat inside.  </p><p>Forced to look up at her captor, Natalia saw the Herald of Holland Valley's partially-lit silhouette as it stepped back to allow his arms to open up, encompassing the room, "Welcome back." The words were nothing more than an impassioned pant. <em>Fucking bastard. </em>She was back there again, the bunker, she was meant to be undercover, not sat right where the cult needed her. <em>This wasn't part of the plan</em>.  </p><p> </p><p>Reaching out for his chair, John turned his back as he spoke "Now, I don't want to bore you with the formalities" The Baptist gestured diplomatically with the one hand as the other locked onto the back of his chair "You know how this works already" turning the chair to face Rook's, he placed himself on the edge, leaning forward into the light.  </p><p><em>"You will confess</em><em>,"</em> John placidly leant over to pick up a clean, engraved knife from the table beside him. Natalia's breath hitched in her throat, "and believe me" The Herald's keen eyes danced across her face, a gleeful smile decorating his lips, "You've got a <em>lot </em>of confessing to do." Strengthening his grip around the knife, John stared at her eagerly as if to say '<em>go ahead'  </em> </p><p>The room was excruciatingly chilled, a draft fleeing from the vent periodically. <em>This room is probably close to the entrance on this floor, </em>she judged by the regular opening and closing sound of...<em> A big vault door? </em>Her distraction was chased by a clear interruption."So, do you wish to confess?" The words broke into her mind as she turned her head away from the vent and back to the Baptist in front of her, who was clearly growing impatient, judging by the look of annoyance gradually creeping across his bearded face. Opening her mouth to speak, Rook felt stunned when John rocketed towards her at the parting of her lips.  </p><p>"<em>G-t—ff</em>" She struggled, the words obstructed by something as John warred with an unknown behind her head that eventually came loose and into her vision. There was cloth in her mouth. <em>How did I not feel that?</em> <em>How blissed out am I?</em> Placing the cloth down on her lap, John looking at her expectantly, the same question returning to his lips "Do you wish to confess?"  <br/>
There was another distant jingle of keys, <em>click.</em> </p><p>"You've already marked me..." Natalia lamented, sinking into her chair and away from the Baptist's distorted figure. <em>Why this again?</em> </p><p>Frowning at her amusedly, it was clear that John had other plans. As a gust blew through the vent, he tilted his head, tapping his knife impatiently against his other hand, "So you believe you're absolved of all sin now?" The words drifted upwards argumentatively. </p><p>The ringing in Rook's ears had frazzled her brain and the tight binds on her wrist had started to burn as she battled them. "Sort your own sins out first" she spat, glaring at the man near inches away from her through the glints of light gliding around his figure, </p><p>"We've been through this before, Deputy, I'm not about to <b>waste</b> my time again" The knife flipped out of its base and John placed it against Rook's thigh expectantly. A tremor skipped an offbeat of her heart. "Do you wish to confess?" John's eyes flickered down to where the blade met her skin, his voice hung assertively on the same direct tone. </p><p>Unable to answer in time, Rook expelled a shout as the knife against her thigh contorted before striking into her skin, mere inches from her lap. Pulling the knife towards himself, John created not only a new canvas on her lap for Rook's latest confession, but a bloodied rip along the thigh of her pants.   </p><p>A darkness ran through Natalia's vision and it was unclear whether she'd even eaten since being back in the prison – however many hours, days ago that was. "Fine, yes, I'll confess"  </p><p><em>J</em><em>ingle, click, </em>a breeze swept into the room as adrenaline spiked through her chest, the only thing pulling her through this confession. </p><p>Releasing a resounding breath as he yielded his success, John wore an ostensible smile. "Great. That wasn't so hard, was it, Deputy?" The knife dripped a speck of blood onto his black jeans, the fluid dispersing amongst its fibres as if erased from existence. </p><p>"What you did back at the prison" John raised a single eyebrow, the graze underneath it catching the light, "That's a large sin to atone for"  He spoke cooly, gaze lingering down to the fresh wound that now decorated her thigh. "I'm afraid I'm finding it difficult to know where to start with you..." He trailed off as a gentle mist wafted over his shape. The knowing spark in his eyes contradicted his words. He knew exactly where to start. </p><p>"...Wrath?" Rook broke the silence, seizing her leg against her restraints, quads convulsing with the steady beat of her heart as she tried to offset the pain. Every fibre of her being wanted to just get this over and done with. She'd been marked with Wrath once before, <em>he's not exactly gonna give me another Wrath tattoo.</em> </p><p>Humming in a semi-satisfied manner, John contemplated her answer. "So you reoffended?" The knife danced from one tattooed hand to another one as he sat up in his chair readily, his language a mockery of her profession. </p><p><em>It wasn't about this. It's never been about this. What did he even want with me in the prison? Why has he captured me again now? </em>Dropping her head at the weight of her thoughts, Natalia knew she needed to speak."<b>What do you want, John?</b>" </p><p>Groaning as though her question was frustratingly trivial, John lunged forward "I want you to confess." He hissed, hands roughly parting her shirt where her sin sat, "Why is it so hard for you to understand that?" His knife landed upon those inked letters. <em>Wrath.</em> </p><p><em>Jingle, click.</em> </p><p>He wasn't listening. "What do you <em>actually</em> want?" Rook struggled against the feeling of the knife lightly grazing her chest. He was going to slice upon her tattoo, rebrand her with this sin he'd been thrusting into her since the day they met.  </p><p>"I want you, <em>Deputy</em>, to learn consequences." The man growled before applying pressure to his blade, which was now unseeming her skin, sending blood scurrying down her chest. Eyes fixed on the slash he'd just created, John placed his other hand on Rook's shoulder to steady her as she writhed against his bidding. </p><p>Outside, there was talking, followed by that jingle again. This time it was clearer, almost crystal clear. <b>"Wait</b><b>!</b><b>"</b> Rattling the chair, Rook's teeth seized with pain, wanting to force John off of her, "We can come to an agreement-" </p><p> </p><p><em>Click</em>, a gust came barrelling into the room. </p><p> </p><p>"<b>John</b>" a low voice resonated, compelling John's frame to overshadow hers like an unsteady shield, his hands latched onto the binds oppressing her wrist, an angered sigh fleeing his mouth. Now his chest was level with her head and only a few inches away. The unsteady rises and falls of it clawed at her stomach: They mirrored her shaky breaths. She was the one in pain, not him, so why was his body such a close mimicry of hers? The shuddering breaths. The tremor of his grip. </p><p>"Joseph wants her" the voice continued, getting louder as the footsteps approached. <em>That's Jacob, it must be.</em>  </p><p>Steadying his state, John's hands eased on her binds, "Why?" He propelled himself up from the chair, a glare fixed on Rook, still not turning to face the other. The taller man grumbled as he came into Natalia's sight, looking her up and down where she was tied to the chair, his eyes had barely befallen his brother. </p><p>"Dunno, ask Joseph." Jacob's large hand appeared and took rest on the younger's shoulder. Although reaching out to his younger brother, Jacob looked as though he was looking past John, he was distracted maybe? Disinterested? Pivoting reflexively to face the older, the Baptist inhaled the dank bunker air thoughtfully, the silence cutting through Rook as she watch the two men share an incomprehensible look. Their eyes appeared to speak more than their mouths as she regarded how differently carved by time the two were. She didn't know much about the brothers but it was clear to her now that there was a subtext to their exchange that she was entirely missing. </p><p>Nodding tenderly, "Ok." John hummed, discontent apparent all over his sparsely lit face. Then, pocketing his knife with a swift glance back to Rook, John exited the room, his posture easing back to a more palatable form. Shoulders dropped back, spine soflty readjusting to carry his head proud on top.  </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Alone with Jacob Seed. This could've been her only opportunity to work out if he really was the 'violent enigma' Whitehorse told him to be. Although, somehow being bound and concussed felt like it may have slightly hindered her chances of any kind of fight, and the bliss coursing through her veins made any kind of decent conversation nigh impossible.  </p><p>The oldest Seed was much more physically hardened than the others, he had the look of a man capable of anything, even without knowing him. He was large and imposing and held himself with pure conviction. His arms crossed, creasing the camo on his jacket. </p><p>"You know you'd have better chances joining us than fighting us." It wasn't a question, not like John's lines of redundant mind games, making you question your own sanity. It was a statement. A bold one, but a statement nonetheless. </p><p>"I know your type." His head nodded conversationally at the wrath tattoo oozing blood onto her shirt, "You're capable of more than you think." No jingling, no nothing, just silence, her vision increasingly getting better. "With the right help - with the right<em> training</em>. You could be a strong fighter."  </p><p>The blood on Rook's leg had managed to meet her ankle and was currently being absorbed by her socks. "I'm already trained" Rook lifted up her thigh to try and blot out the blood with her sleeve just reaching the edges, her wrists tugged at the rope. </p><p>"I know what you did to Faith" Jacob ignored her retort with a certain nonchalance, "and I heard what you did to John." He stepped towards her, some more light shining on the raised side of his face, the light revealed a pustulous scar, <em>a burn</em>, that embroidered the right side of his face. <em>Battle scars,</em> she thought. </p><p>"Impressive" Jacob admitted, a hint of dissatisfaction creeping into his features at his next thought. <br/>
<em>Jingle, click.</em> <br/>
<em>"</em>But be careful with my little brother" the words were almost inaudible like a low hum, Jacob's eyes averted, a gust entered the room and it was clear Jacob knew they were coming back "You're gonna have two choices, Dep," his attention fixed back on her,  "join us or end up like the rest of the weak sinners who don’t know how to make the right choice" He shrugged as he paced back to the door, standing to attention for either of his brothers to re-enter. The wrapped bodies hung in the room swayed at the beckon of the breeze like a threat. </p><p>Creaking open, the large metal door revealed Joseph Seed. He wore an odd tailored suit and the same yellow-tinted glasses she hadn't seen him without since the arrest at the compound. Behind him followed John. Some hair had fallen out of place over his forehead that rocked with each step he took, he looked different but she didn't have time to place why as the Seed brothers were rapidly approaching her.  </p><p> </p><p><em>Three Seeds in one confined space. If only I had a machine gun and two free hands. </em>As Joseph ushered John towards her, the latter held an empty expression that enveloped her like some unknown force. It felt freezing in here, the extremities of her body crying out for warmth.  </p><p>Creating a barricade between herself and the door, Jacob wore an aged smile whilst Joseph explored Rook's face contemplatively. John's eyes met the ground as he planted his feet beside his older brothers', completing the formation. <em>Deep breaths, </em>she thought as her attention travelled across each brother, landing on John. The tendons in his temple flexed as he lifted his chin to match her gaze, which she quickly broke. She didn't want to look bothered by their presence: that makes her prey to three apex predators.  </p><p>Stepping forward as if to begin a speech, Joseph smiled warmly in a great juxtaposition to her circumstances, "My brothers and I have come to an agreement about you, my child." He placed a paternal hand onto John's shoulder and Natalia watched as the younger's back straightened instinctively, followed by a defensive clearing of his throat. She expected John to begin speaking but instead Jacob's deep husk spoke up. </p><p>"Deputy," Jacob begin, folding his arms, "Either you join us as a member of the Project at Edens Gate, or we're going to have to eliminate you as a threat." <em>He means death. </em>Natalia's focus sat against a wall to one side in order to give her mind some space away from the Seeds to just think. If she doesn’t agree to this, she could be dead in a matter of seconds. If she agrees, she could be a double agent for the resistance, surely?  </p><p>"If you join us" Jacob errupted, "You'll be with me. You'll fight." His tone was certain, no room for debate. Rook felt her head become heavy with the weight of this decision. She'd been warned about Jacob. He might be 'just another Seed brother' but she couldn't take that risk, not for herself and not for the Sheriff. She can't. Not Jacob. That wasn't the plan.  </p><p>"I can't." The words barely escaped her tight throat as The soldier squinted at her in scrutiny of her intention, <em>did she want to die?</em> "I can't be a fighter for you." Rook stammered out the words racing to find an excuse. "I'm a police deputy, not a soldier." <em>They don’t care. </em>An oppressive silence befell Jacob as he released the frown. It felt like he was ready to kill her.  </p><p><b><em>Think. </em></b>"I'm asthmatic." Natalia lied, freezing her face to show no signs of deception. It was a bad excuse but it was too late to reconsider. Waiting desperately for some kind of a response, she saw as a minute tilt graced John's head. He looked inquiring, the corners of his lips upturning in some kind of humor, that familiar energy returning behind his once-vacant eyes. He didn't believe her, that much was clear. <em>If he opens his mouth</em><em>, this could- </em> </p><p>"Looks like you made the wrong choice then." The oldest brother strode towards her with a huff and her whole body seized within her tight, prickling skin. Her vision was patchy but not from the bliss this time. It was as though she could see the blood behind her retina, each inhale sent a sharp pain through her torso, painful enough to make her forget about any 'wrath' tattoo or thigh laceration. <em>Wrong choice. Wrong choice. Wrong choice.</em> </p><p> </p><p>"<b>Wait.</b>" Joseph's voice halted Jacob in his tracks and a dizzying wave washed over Rook. Stillness grounded her where she sat, rattling through her brittle bones. Tiptoeing towards her chair, Natalia regarded dizzily as Joseph delicately knelt before her.  </p><p>"<b>God-" </b>His words were free and unweilding, "is merciful, and as his messenger, I too will impart his mercy onto you." There was an unwavering belief glazing his still irises. "You will inflict no more harm onto this family or any of my children." Joseph shook his head smoothly with his words, "Should you present a threat or conspire with <em>The Resistance </em>again." He released a soulful breath, that grazed Natalia's raw skin of her chest,  "We will not hesitate to reap you from our home." <em>A truce, </em>she thought. </p><p>Hobbling closer to her chair, Joseph's unsteady eyes flickered between Natalia's. "You can leave." He spoke, holding her attention with a blank look. <em>But I'm-? </em>Behind Joseph, Jacob and John both turned towards the door and began pacing towards it. <em>He meant them, not me... </em>Closing the cold bolted door behind them, a strange relief flooded through Natalia it was almost over. So close. </p><p>There was a moment that lasted too long – uncomfortably long – as Joseph's dead eyes perched on her face. He didn't open his mouth until he had his whole sentence formed, it seemed. "Family is more important than any other tangible resource." Placing a rosary-clad hand on Rooks thigh, she winced as a bead caught on the broken skin. "Without family, we are <em>nothing. </em>Dead husks left to wander aimlessly on God's good land."  </p><p>There was a deep sadness that furrowed Joseph's brow. It was difficult to tell what he was feeling and why but it was impossible to find a reply to that statement. Waiting a moment, Joseph bowed his head peacefully until it met with the hand on Rook's thigh and rested there like he was saying some silent prayer against her body. She was tongue tied, the only thing she could do was remain still and standby for Joseph to finish whatever he was doing.  </p><p>Lifting his head, Joseph continued once more, "My child, please think about the effect you've had on my family. Both my siblings and my children." <em>Faith... S</em>he felt and impulse through Joseph's hand at that thought, "If you rob me of any more siblings," Joseph began rising from his knees and rested a hand on her cheek, pulling their faces close together, "I will not hesitate to serve the lord in reaping your cancer from this Earth." Reaching into his pocket, Joseph blew some green powder directly into her face, lights twinkling around his near visage before darkness consumed her once more. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed the seed brothers content ;) couldn’t resist</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Fleeting Farewell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rook decides that a ceasefire isn't for her. Saying goodbye to the resistance, Rook pursues John Seed's tracks... All alone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>The gentle hiss of rushing water flooded her ears hypnotically. The sky above radiated a light mist that parted as she came to her senses on the riverbank of Holland Valley. The bridge above her awoke with a clandestine buzz as light and heavy vehicles passed above. Reaching out to palm the ground, Natalia's hand fell on a pistol. Wrapping her fingers around the grip, the familiar hold inferred it was her own pistol she'd kept with her since entering this hellscape of a county. Bringing it to her face, Rook could see the dusting of dark blue paint and sighed as she levered herself up from the muddied bank. </span> </p><p><span>Allowing the pistol to slip back into its holster, the rope burns on her wrist became visible. Now she remembered what she was doing here. </span><em><span>There are worse places to wake up... </span></em><span>Dabbing a hand on her exposed chest, the half-carved '</span><em><span>Wrath' </span></em><span>inscription tickled her fingertips, new scabs removing the sensitivity that used to be there. It was time to get up, she still had a mission to complete after all.</span> </p><p><em><span>Ceasefire, </span></em><span>Rook tittered to herself, </span><em><span>yeah, right. </span></em><span>Ceasefires weren't her style, but if that’s what Joseph thought they were gonna do, then he could carry on believing that for as long as he wants. </span><em><span>She </span></em><span>wasn't going to stop fighting. Rising to her feet, Rook strolled along the river's edge. If they'd dropped her off here, they'd probably still have eyes on her. Fighting doesn't mean being stupid. So, continuing up the bank, Natalia eventually came across a cove sheltered by a thick brush on the other side of the river. It was a nice enough day to dry off quick and she needed somewhere to get in contact with The Resistance in private. </span><em><span>This might be the last contact for a while.</span></em> </p><p><span>The water was a prickly chill but something about the icy sensation bought her to her sense as she waded through the fresh water, careful to keep her radio above the waterline. Untying her constrained hair, Natalia tilted her head back until each strand was fully submerged. Her body felt renewed and energized, small drips glistening the surface of her face as she reached the other side. Crawling up the bank, Rook wrung out her clothes half-halfheartedly before trotting into the cove for what could be her final call. It was important she got this right, she knew that. It was the same feeling she had when she left Billings for Hope County. The feeling of craving readiness for her departure. Did she have all the equipment she needed? Was she prepared? Was this the right choice? She couldn't answer those questions that day, and this day was no different. </span> </p><p>
  <span>Slipping to a dark corner near the entrance of the cove, she merely had to hope that there was a radio tower nearby that was strong enough to pick up her signal from here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>"Sheriff? </span><em><span>Come in.</span></em><span>" Her radio crackled, "This is the Junior Deputy, </span><em><span>over.</span></em><span>" The radio sat in an electrified silence as she awaited a response, tapping at the volume buttons to minimize the echo of voices in the cove.</span> </p><p><span>"Rook!" A hearty voice sung out, alleviating the worry in her core. "Where've you been? We've been trying to contact you." The bass in Whitehorse's voice told of a fearfulness blended with a strict disappointment.</span> </p><p><span>"John got hold of me." She clicked the radio off before returning to it promptly, "-And Joseph... Jacob was there too." It didn't sound good on paper, it even made Rook momentarily question how she even survived, "They wanted to talk to me."</span> </p><p><span>Immediately as she finished her sentence, the signal buzzed to life, "What did they say? How d'you get out?" Whitehorse's questions were riddled with shock. Natalia had made a habit of surprising him since the day she joined his team. </span> </p><p><span>"Joseph offered a ceasefire. He said they'd stop fighting us and harming our people, if we did the same for them." </span><em><span>World-class negotiator, Natalia Alcott, over.</span></em> </p><p><span>"Jesus Christ, Rook." The sheriff sat with his radio still on, the sound of chatter from the prison crept through the receiver. "So you agreed for us to stop fighting?" </span> </p><p><span>He didn't sound happy and maybe she took a bit too much authority, but it was her only choice. "Yes." Rook paused for a moment to ponder on her phrasing, "But we're not gonna stop... We're still gonna go ahead with the mission, Sheriff."</span> </p><p><span>"Under Joseph Seed's nose?" Whitehorse's tone was dry, but not disillusioned. Crazy-genius was becoming Rook's forte. </span> </p><p><span>"You know that I'm good at going undetected, Sheriff. I'll stick to the same plan, but just try and do it... </span><em><span>Covertly." </span></em> </p><p><span>Buzzing to receiver Whitehorse's message, a sigh broadcast through her speaker, "I hope to God you're making the right choice, Rook"</span> </p><p><span>This was the hard part, now. Natalia readjusted her perch upon the rock, wiping a droplet of river water from her cheek. "You know, I don’t think I can contact you anymore." The words drew some deep-seated energy from her soul, "To be safe, I can't really use this radio at all."</span> </p><p><span>"I know, Rook." The voice reassured from across the county. "If we go ahead with this, we'll have to cease contact between the resistance bases too." This was all Natalia's responsibility. If she hadn't got herself kidnapped, they could've stayed in contact this whole time </span><em><span>and </span></em><span>taken down the Seeds.</span> </p><p><span>"You mean Falls End?" </span><em><span>Why does it have to be so hard? Why can nothing in this county be easy?</span></em> </p><p><span>"We have no choice, Rook." The anxious voices spiraling in her mind slowed to a more bearable current. </span><em><span>No choice, </span></em><span>she thought. "Do you need any last resources from us before you leave?"</span> </p><p><span>Dropping her head to sit idle in her hands, Natalia began speculating. </span><em><span>What do I need?</span></em><span> "The heroine, like Tracie said." She flicked the radio back on quickly, "For John, obviously." Leaning back on her roost, she lingered over the rock formations on the ceiling above her, "And a radio receiver, for the cult."</span> </p><p><span>The break in their conversation probably meant Whitehorse was either scribbling notes or giving orders to the resistance, but it seemed as though – from now – her fate was sealed. "Where are you?"</span> </p><p><span>"The river between Holland Valley and the Henbane... Near The River Chalets" It took until that moment for Rook to realize she really had her bearings of Hope County, and it felt good. </span><em><span>Free. </span></em><span>Maybe she wasn't so under prepared for this job.</span> </p><p><span>"We'll have it with you in under an hour." The plan was finalized. "Stay safe, Rook."</span> </p><p><span>"Thank you." She drunk in the last echoes of the safe voice. "I will."</span> </p><p><span>Her radio flickered out in her hand, ceasing any sound as though it had finally taken its last breaths. Only droplets of water molding slow-forming stalagmites tickled her ears as she stood. Rook knew what she needed to do.</span> </p><p><span>The bright Montana sun struck her pupils as she departed the decaying cove; the mist gently washing over her like a cool blanket that prickled her skin ever so slightly. Tip-toeing down to the water, Rook kept a habitual hold of the small electronic box she'd become to accustomed to over the last few months. Her hands would feel empty without it. Her heart would feel helpless and her lips would fall still. Unknowingly, it felt as though Natalia had sworn herself to silence. S</span><span>he'd been handed the needle and thread and willingly obliged to seal her lips for the last time. Who would she speak to now? And how? </span> </p><p><span>It wasn't worth thinking about. Not for the ringing sensation it set in her ears and not for the light radiating her temples were currently expelling. Bringing the radio up to her mouth for one last time, the box seemed to crackle to life before she'd even pressed her finger down to speak, almost as though someone was on her frequency.</span> </p><p><span>"Rook out." </span> </p><p><span>The box flipped in the air as she aimed the radio towards the water. Hitting the surface, droplets of bliss-infused water leapt away from the static device, evading it's harsh hit against the liquid. And from there it slowly sank, alone and removed from its owner. Drowning into the darkness and algae, Natalia's back turned on it for the first and last time. </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>Scrabbling up the bank, Natalia reached the wooden cladding of the closest chalet, </span><em><span>'4</span></em><em><span>'</span></em><span>a sign titled the hut, followed by another plaque on the door with the same number. </span><em><span>Let's hope it's unoccupied...</span></em> <span>Cautiously levering the door open, Natalia was greeted by fragmented studio lights, half eaten pizza and a static TV. </span><em><span>Looks as though it </span></em><b><em><span>was</span></em></b><em><span> occupied. </span></em><span>The room smelt lived-in and the scattered belongings across the floor told the narrative of a young film maker desperate for his break with a documentary starring none other than Bigfoot himself. </span> </p><p><em><span>Out of all the counties in Montana, imagine choosing this one... </span></em><span>Rook lamented, </span><em><span>Closest thing they got is Jacob Seed.</span></em><span>Laying her feet to rest on the dusty table as she sunk into the dank sofa, Rook took a moment to reset her mind and rest her feet. Along the walls were pins, photos and scribblings, the word '</span><em><span>Bigfoot'</span></em><span> scrawled repetitively along a noticeboard. It was a refreshing change from the usual evangelical '</span><em><span>Sinner.'</span></em><span> graffiti. This place was free from any scriptures of preaching, it bought some respite. This was Natalia's refuge for the next half an hour. </span> </p><p><em><span>Hopefully today can be a Seed-free day, </span></em><span>she thought as the cushions devoured her. It most likely wasn't going to be, it felt like any day in Hope County was blessed by one of the three remaining siblings whether she liked it or not. Besides, her mission was going to draw her closer to John Seed, not further. Retrieving her </span><em><span>Cougars</span></em><span> flask, Rook brought the metal bottle to the sink, </span><em><span>Three days without water. </span></em><span>The survivalist fact was ingrained in her head from her days in the Air Cadets. Testing the spout, a flowing stream unleashed. It was difficult to tell in the poor lighting whether it had bliss in or not, but the chances were, it did</span><span>. Taking less than a shot of water into her flask, Natalia poured it lightly into her mouth. Dizziness instantly invaded her balance, a tiny sea-sick-like sensation that was only noticeable if you were looking for it. She needed to get the bliss out of it.</span> </p><p><span>Lighting the gas of the cooker, Natalia filled her flask and placed it over the flame in the hopes of evaporating some of the bliss. Waiting for the water to boil, her mind began to drift, playing out hypotheticals and scenarios.</span> <em><span>Breaking into John's bunker and stealing vital paperwork, John relapsing and spilling out each and every dark secret of this ritualistic nightmare of a cult and his days in a debilitating addiction: Drugs, alcohol and sex. </span></em><span>There was an indistinguishable churning deep in her core</span><span>. </span><em><span>Probably fear... </span></em> </p><p><span>"</span><b><span>Alcohol!</span></b><span>" Natalia exclaimed jumping from her seat. </span><span>"Shit." Firing towards the cupboards of the rotted kitchen, Rook flitted through pots and pans, a few that look like they had their own eco-system from the amount of infectious mold sat on the metal tumble out onto the side haphazardly. After raiding each cabinet and cupboards, it became clear they bore no fruit and stepping back, Rook shook her head when something on the ground caught her eye.</span> </p><p><em><span>'Boshaw Brew' </span></em><span>The bottle twinkled at her. Clutching the condensation-frosted glass, Natalia raised it to her face. </span><em><span>Looks like alcohol...</span></em><span> Turning the bottle around to examine the label, Rook searched for any signs of a percentage, ingredients or even any sort of description, but there was nothing. She couldn't take the risk that it wasn't alcohol, if she was going to spike John, then she'd better do it right. Pouring some out onto the aged coffee table, Natalia retrieved her lighter and sparked the edge. An instantaneous blaze broke out along the scratched wood. </span><em><span>Definitely alcohol.</span></em> </p><p><span>Tugging at the messy hotel bed sheet beside her, Rook threw the blanket over the table to smother the blaze, smoke pouring out into the room as the fire suffocated into a few barely-noticeable embers. </span><em><span>Nothing like a house fire to blow your cover. </span></em><span>Pushing the backdoor open hastily to free the trapped smoke, the sound of burnt tire on gravel scratched through the resort. </span><em><span>Not now. Please! </span></em><span>Ducking back inside, Natalia grabbed at her sleeve to shield her mouth as she battled with the last remnants of the smoke on the way to her hiding spot. </span><em><span>Typical. </span></em> </p><p><span>Outside, the metallic crack of the opening of a car door graced the courtyard. Sustained footsteps followed as they circled what was presumably the car. Opening the trunk, the shuffling of cotton alerted Rook to the stranger retrieving something. Something that had just fallen firmly on the ground on the porch of her hut. It sounded light. Crouching over to the front door, peering through the window, Natalia saw a woman in plain clothing stood to attention beside the vehicle. It was her drop off.</span> </p><p><span>Cautiously creaking the door open, Rook took hold of the duffle bag and slung it over one shoulder. "Dep!" The woman called out with an indifferent wave, reaching for the handle to her rusted car once more.</span> </p><p><span>"Wait!" Natalia dashed across the gravel to the driver's side to stop the woman from departing. "I need a ride." </span> </p><p><span>"But the Sheriff-" The woman began, placing a hand on her hat nervously. Coming out to do a drop-off</span><span> was already a risk for the resistance, but Rook catching a ride with them? That was a dangerous proposition.</span> </p><p><span>"I know.." Natalia finished her thought offering a consoling nod before interjecting, "Just a quick one – to Holland Valley...</span><em><span> The Lamb of God Church</span></em><span>."</span> </p><p><span>Biting a nail, swallowed by guilt the woman must've spied some deep desperation in Natalia's eyes, that finally made up the decision for her, "Ok. But you're gonna have to duck in the back."</span> </p><p><span>"Thank you." Rook sighed from deep in her heart, "Promise I'll keep hidden." She grinned with a playful lightness. </span> </p><p><span>"You better!" The woman escorted Natalia to the backseat hastily, "There are clothes in the bag, make sure to change." She asserted, pulling the handbrake with a crunch.</span> </p><p><span>"Yes, m'am!" Natalia tugged open the stiff zip of the duffle and spotted some cleanly folded clothes, similar to those the woman adorned. Tugging off her top to replace it with a fresh one, the car sped down the country lanes and across the bridge into Holland Valley.</span> </p><p><span>Placing glasses over her eyes to evade the creeping sunset, the woman tilted the rear-view mirror to catch Rook's eye, "You got everything you need?"</span> </p><p><span>"Uhh-" Natalia struggled with the buttons over her pants as the other hand ruffled within the dark duffle bag. Removing each item as her hand captured it, she came across three syringes and one radio receiver. "Yeah – thanks – I do." She warred with the remaining buttons until they finally obeyed and she could free both hands. </span> </p><p><span>Curiously extending an arm to retrieve a syringe, Natalia brought the glass contraption to her face, crouching over to avoid the stare of the Holland Valley through their dust-ridden windows. Eyeing the fluid within, a question sparked in her mind, "You know where I can find any John Seeds around here?" </span> </p><p><span>Taking a bend in the road into tree covering, the woman pointed to the window adjacent to her, "I don't," she admitted, "but they might." </span><span>Peeking up through the rear window as they passed whatever had been pinpointed, Rook saw a small group of peggies standing guard by a small post by a hidden country path that rapidly disappeared into the distance.</span> </p><p><span>Taking a left as they left the road, the white steeple came into sight and the fenced off graveyard littered with shells revealed itself. "We're here." The woman erupted, jabbing her brakes as the car tore up some ground outside the church. "Good luck, Dep."</span> </p><p><span>Clicking open her door, Rook turned around to grab the bag, "Thanks, I'll need it."</span> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next stop: Getting John Seed drunk.</p><p>I hope you're all exited ;) We're in for a ride!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Camp Heretic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rook stalks John into a campsite as deep south in Holland Valley as it gets. In the darkness she plots to spike the Baptist's drink . Will she pull off an impressive heist?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a long one, so strap in folks and gets some popcorn!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>'</span><em><span>Any idea when our shift's over?' </span></em><span>She'd heard one ask.</span> </p><p><span>'</span><em><span>Why, you got big plans tonight?' The slightly shorter peggie grunted in response with a cross of his cloth-coated arms.</span></em> </p><p><em><span>'John's camping out with a few guys south of the Ranch.' The other bragged, 'Why? You not been invited?'</span></em> </p><p><em><span>There it was: her one-way ticket into the mouth of death, armed with nothing but a bottle of moonshine.</span></em> </p><p> </p><p><span>It was a small clearing near the river's edge. Trees cased the campsite like a net, shielding all living beings from the glare of moonlight. As the crickets cried out a crackling melody, leaves rustled hushed against the dirt clad ground. It was approaching midnight and Natalia was still all alone with the world.</span> </p><p><span>Truth be told, she had no idea when the peggies shifts ended or even how long they were in the first place, but having waited nervously in the confines of this dank southern forest for a nearing three hours, Natalia had to be sure they'd be there soon – just for her own sanity. </span> </p><p><span>Pulling her heavy brown jacket across slim shoulders, the broken strap from her rifle holster pawed across her shirt as a sick reminder of her missing weapon. Rubbing at the untrodden ground with her boot, Natalia cleared the deceased leaves and snapped twigs from where her seat for the night would be. Crouching down into her new perch, she pulled her duffle bag tight to her side. It was the only friend she was going to have through this ever-darkening night. </span> </p><p><span>Her head lowered to the bag in a state of sleep as chatter sounded behind her from within the covers of the trees. Striking her head upwards to see the source of the noise, two peggies appeared. One held a group of camping chairs under one arm, and the other one, a large gallon canteen, about half full. Setting the canteen down around a meter distance from the fire, the shorter peggie knelt down, his cargos muddied with the forest floor. Out of his pocket appeared a lighter and a small knife.</span> </p><p><span>Behind the shorter peggie, a taller, skinner one battled curiously with the camp chairs leading Natalia to watch in disbelief at how he managed to click the weathered chair in and out of position before it collapsed on the ground beneath his feet. </span><em><span>Still no John.</span></em> </p><p><span>"The fuck you doin'?" The shorter swung his head around to face his companion, disordered indignation on his cheeks.</span> </p><p><span>"I'm </span><span>puttin</span><span>' up the chairs like you told me to!" The other hit back defensively, retrieving the now filthy chair from the ground with another crack to its simple mechanism.</span> </p><p><span>"Then why you makin' it look so hard?" The lowered peggie hissed as he pulled a stick from the sunken campfire and began chipping it with his small knife.</span> </p><p><span>"Stupid thing won't stand up!" The lanky man complained firing his hands out indignantly indicating the chair beneath him, angrily kicking it against the ground.</span> </p><p><span>Huffing as he pushed the ground away, marching towards his contemporary, the shorter grabbed at the chair and hit it in the air with a loud crack, dropping it against the ground, perfectly unfolded. "You're so fuckin' dumb, you know that?"</span> </p><p><span>Watching the stable, unfolded chair in awe, the skinny cultist broke his mesmerized gaze to correct his partner, "Don't need to be smart to make it to the New Eden." </span> </p><p><span>"Well ain't that a miracle." The shorter sunk back down to the campfire, returning to his task of chipping wood with an impatient sigh. </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>And as Natalia waited for the sight of that vest, the searching blue eyes or the swept-back hair, from the darkness, beckoned by the calls of animals, reared just another cultist. "Praise the Father." He hummed gently in a soft tone as he lightly tapped the fire-making cultist on the shoulder. "Logan." He smiled, settling into their small flock among the trees.</span> </p><p><span>The sky eventually deepened to a magnetic, oppressive blue, the light from the newly lit fire became the only solace. Shadows of flames danced across the tree bark and semi-lit peggie faces as they set out seats in between uneducated small talk. Natalia's hands in front of her became invisible as her cover became a shield against any light or warmth. Her in-breaths chilled her lungs as the subtle rustling of birds above her concealed any movement she might make. </span> </p><p><span>When through the brush opposite her, first came two torchlights that scanned left and right as the beam grew brighter. Following the torch lights tentatively, Rook laid eyes on two figures, relatively equal in height and stature. She swallowed the air down her dry throat in anticipation. </span> </p><p><span>Stepping into the flickering fire</span><span>light, she saw him, </span><em><span>John</span></em><span>. He was clad with a heavy brown coat, inscribed with some sort of repetitive pattern. From this distance away, his posture politely suggested a story of his day up until this point. His footfalls were narrow and overworked and his slim shoulders slumped as he came into the light. Beside him was a chosen who delicately slipped into John's trail as he announced his arrival. </span> </p><p><span>"Thank you for waiting." The Baptist greeted as he stepped foot into the center of their clandestine congregation, clicking off the metal torch in his hand, unwittingly forcing Natalia to creep along the treeline to get a better view of their assembly. Nodding towards his hovering Chosen, the red sleeved man approached the half-empty water drum amid the center of their woodfire circle and began pouring the liquid into five steel flasks, filling John's own first. His Herald couldn't go thirsty. </span> </p><p><span>Each flask was gifted to a member of the campfire and Natalia observed as the liquid in the drum became lesser and lesser. John's flask sat firmly between his inked hands, the cold chill of its surface causing him to open his grip occasionally as he sat back in his preened camping seat. Her eyes drifted over the flask and that grip. Her brain began spinning and weaving scenarios of heists, all involving getting her hands on that metal bottle by any means necessary. And all ending with one very drunk cultist falling right into her grip.</span> </p><p><span>"What happened to your chair, Lyle?" John flourished an effortless point that finished at his elbow as his inviting baby blues settled on Lyle's disheveled chair. </span> </p><p><span>"Oh, uh-- This is how I like it" The dense peggie stumbled through his words as a twigged poked at his back through the lining of the chair.</span> </p><p><span>Pinching his brows, "Then by all means..." John concluded stiltedly, taken aback by this strange interjection as he placed his flask to his lips, gracefully drinking in a swig of water. </span><em><span>Could I spike his drink?</span></em> </p><p><span>Sinking down to unzip her duffle, Natalia wracked her brains. How could she get John drunk? And with all these people watching? And that flask! </span><em><span>That flask. </span></em><span>It didn’t look like it was going to be freed from his frosted grip any time soon. </span> </p><p><span>"When's our next shipment of prisoners come in?" The Chosen directed his question outwards, although it was clear it was meant for John.</span> </p><p><span>"10am?" Logan quizzed with a shrug of his shoulders that told of a lazy nonchalance.</span> </p><p><span>"11." Corrected John with a perfunctory smile, resting his weight over and arm on the cotton chair. </span><em><span>Maybe I should write this down.</span></em> </p><p><span>Natalia shut her eyes in the darkness as a way mentally imprinting the new information in her brain. </span><em><span>Those fuckers.</span></em><span> Didn't they have a ceasefire? </span><em><span>If those prisoners aren't resistance members, or even Hope County residents, then where are they getting them from?</span></em><span> Having too much information wouldn't harm her. But having too little?</span> </p><p><span>"What about the ones going North?" </span> </p><p><span>"There aren't any going North. Just to us." The Chosen explained sincerely.</span> </p><p><span>"And the East?" Lyle piped up when a sudden wave of faces shot to meet his own like a stampede. </span> </p><p><span>"We don't have the East, Lyle." His shorter, barely friend threatened disapprovingly, gesticulating with the flask bound hand. "It was taken from us by the sinners."</span> </p><p><span>Swooping in as though a mother bird, the quieter of the peggies broke his way into the conversation, "Don't worry brother, John said-"</span> </p><p><span>"Said what?" -- Exactly what she was thinking -- </span><span>The flask punched the air as some water jettisoned from its confines, "He's right here, stop quotin' him like he's dead or something." Logan swung a meaty arm out to gesticulate rashly in the direction of him spoken about. </span><em><span>What did John say about the Henbane? </span></em><span>Natalia fretted at the diversion.</span> </p><p><span>As an irritated sigh departed John's lips, the group went silent </span><span>at the parting of them</span><span>. It was as though they could feel him speak before he did. The air moved differently when their Herald was around. </span> </p><p><span>"You ought to be careful." John straightened up against the chilled cotton. "We often say things we regret when it gets dark." Advised the lawyer with a false reverence as his eyes drifted from Lyle until they fell on Logan. "You wouldn’t want to misspeak." </span> </p><p><span>Natalia saw through the bent, imposing branches how the cocky man shrunk under the eye of the Seed, like a slowly compressing can. The pride drained out of him, each hole in his face dropping, each line loosening. "Yes, John." He choked his words before the recognizable buzz of a radio ripped him from his spotlight. </span> </p><p> </p><p><span>"John." It declared.</span> </p><p> </p><p><span>The tension discharged from John's body like a broken dam as he sprung from his seat, striding across the forest vigorously to hear what the voice had to say to him. "Keep watch." He ordered the Chosen in the silence before the radio's next command.</span> </p><p><span>And there it was, John's lonesome flask. It sang out to her through the trees, practically begging for the drop of whatever was in this bottle she picked up from the chalets. The only problem was, she had no chance of getting to it and staying unseen by the other four men around the campfire. </span><em><span>Come on, move you assholes. </span></em> </p><p><span>Obeying John's command, the Chosen stepped up from his perch, twisting an arm to obtain his weapon as he marched out to the extremities of their campsite, keenly watching for any movement now his Herald was gone. His back was turned to her now too. </span> </p><p><span>"Wyatt!" The rather annoying, lanky peggie sprung up to tail the chosen, "Hey, man, mind if I help you?" He pestered. "You know, I'm pretty sure I saw a runaway out that way on the way down here." Lyle sprung a digit out in the opposite direction to Natalia.</span> <br/>
<span>And there they were, distracted.</span> </p><p><span>Gazing back to the campsite, whispering a desperate prayer, it was as though some force within Rook levered up the remaining peggies from their seats and ou,t pacing into a brush. The only problem was: It was directly towards her. </span><em><span>Shit shit shit.</span></em> </p><p><span>One of the peggies reached down to where his belt laid as he bustled through the brush towards her, sending her clambering out of her hiding spot on all fours, her heart suddenly rattling about in her chilled chest. </span> </p><p><span>Stumbling upwards and behind the trunk of a balding tree, Rook peered out through the side, beneath the hood of a near-deceased branch. And as they neared a few feet away from her, one of the approaching men stopped to press a single gloved hand against a neighboring tree, staring out just past her direction. </span><em><span>Come on, not now. Please.</span></em> </p><p><span>Pulling at his flies, "You mind keeping watch?" The more heavily bearded of the two propositioned. </span><em><span>Oh shit, </span></em><span>Natalia heaved a sigh, a smile breaking onto her face. They hadn't seen her, and that’s what mattered.</span> </p><p><span>Rearing back to evade capture by the beady eyelines of watchful peggies, Rook's brain fixed on her targets. They were plentiful and scattered. The two nearer peggies disappeared from her vision as she circled the site, duffle striking her waist as she jogged. In sight was John, barely a silhouette, bent arm to his mouth as he addressed the small piece of machinery within his tattooed grip.</span> </p><p><span>At the center of the campsite, presented like an offering to the Gods was the water drum and the glistening fire, striking shadows against the firm plastic of its base. </span><em><span>Of course, the water drum! </span></em><span>Stealing her mind from John's flask, the water drum became the center of her attention. Why spike one peggie when you can take down the whole roost? She'd never been anything short of ambitious, that was for sure. </span> </p><p><span>"</span><b><span>Runaway!</span></b><span>" A voice hollered through the hollow trees, as hard footfall broke through her eardrums, knocking Talia back against the ground, her heart pounding into her throat. It was Lyle, rounding the campsite against her path through the trees.</span> </p><p><span>Rolling into the cover of what looked to be an abandoned nest of some burrowing animal, Natalia dropped down into the ground, pressing her back against the unsteady dugout walls, catching her shallow breaths against her hand. The smattering of heavy footsteps knocked dirt behind her as some came hurtling towards her, dusting across her bound hair. </span> </p><p><span>The hiding spot smelt putrid, within the darkness, Natalia couldn't be sure whether she was nestling with a dead body or some animal's cesspit. And then there it was, the familiar mewing. </span><em><span>Skunks. </span></em> </p><p><span>Above her head, on the forest floor, a mewing gravitated towards her. She was the unassuming Goldilocks of a skunk den. </span><em><span>To think this night could get any better. </span></em><span>Rustling towards her, Natalia was seconds away from some gastric attack when bullets crackled against the ground, inches away from her feet, kicking up dirt around her shins.</span> </p><p><span>"False alarm!" A gun ticked above her, "Was jus' some skunks." Lyle confessed wearily as a skunk body dropped into her hiding spot. Trudging away reluctantly, The dumb peggie retreated to his superior and she was left alone once more, having gained a dead body, but not the one she assumed.</span> </p><p><span>Waiting until all human sound ceased, Rook clambered out of the ground, tapping chunks of dirt from her body as she went, heaving for some clean air and practically begging some unknown force for the campsite she'd purveyed to still be empty. And as if by God's own hand, it was. </span> </p><p><span>This time, she had to take that leap, and take it right off the edge, she did</span><span>. Sprinting in, promptly conveying all targets around her, Talia grabbed the drum of water and hastily dashed out what water she could on the ground before haphazardly tugging at her duffle to grab the bottle.</span> </p><p><span>Shadows danced around her at the beckon of the dying fire. Her mind couldn't process the darkness quick enough to truly know if she was in the sights of any cultist right then.</span> </p><p><span>Cracking open the lid of the large bottle, an invasive petroleum-like smell fired into her senses, unleashing into the wilderness as she emptied the unknown alcohol into the drum, seeing the clear fluid mix with water. </span><em><span>Quick. </span></em> </p><p><span>"Thank you." John's whisper breached her ears, her hyper-senses all tingling as she committed her adrenaline-fueled crime. She had to go, and quick. Sprinting back into tree cover, some remaining liquid poured from the bottle against the woodchip ground. Diving into the tree, Talia stole her breath behind her hand once more as her body crumpled into the dank ground, the bottle falling against her chest.</span> </p><p><span>She'd done it. </span> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stilling her body as she pulled what air she could through her hand in a plea for silence, the smell broke through her nostrils again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not the skunk smell from before, no, the corrosive smell of whatever was in that bottle. Leaning forward against the cold ground, Natalia dug her nose into the </span>
  <span>mouth of the bottle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she sprung back from it as her eyes watered from the large drag of breath she took in from it. All she could detect was ethanol. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Charlemagne </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Boshaw, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she cursed silently at the bottle's namesake.</span>
</p><p><span>Slinking back into the camp, John's silky tones brushed through the leaves, "I wish the voice would come and speak to me." John seemed to distantly lament as he flipped his radio off, "--Come and tell me to take a fucking day off." Presumably John's chosen chortled as two stood alone in the camp awaiting the rest of the men's arrival. It was a private conversation or even a joke between the two of them, but it surprised Natalia. They were bold words for such a supposedly devout man</span><em><span>. I'm sure Joseph wouldn't like to hear that. </span></em><span>As footsteps drifted back into the campsite, chatter also arrived, </span><span>chatter that was soon to become drunken ramblings if there was any hope in this world.  Settling within the camp, the voices lowered, allowing the peace for Natalia's glance behind her tree.</span> </p><p><span>At the center of the camp was the Chosen again, drum in hand, flasks lined up in a row. She was about to find out if her plan worked. As he poured the ethanoic water into each flask, Talia held her breath, clutching the pistol at her side. Even if they did work out what she'd done, would they know it was her? What would they do if they did?</span> </p><p><span>The flasks were siphoned out across the shadowy men. John's was first, of course. Chattering with the other cultists, he stalled taking a drink as his lips articulated whatever sermons, perhaps stories he was telling. Then he lifted it, the flask. Pausing with it lightly rested against his lips as he spoke a final word. </span><span>Tilting it to his lips, the liquid poured down his throat.</span> </p><p><span>Wincing as he gulped down the liquid, John shot a glare across the camp. It was enough to strike up fear in even the bravest of men. It was a wrathful glare. That was certain. "</span><em><span>Who disinfected this water?"</span></em><span> He barked an open command to the cultists. </span> </p><p><span>Crumpling into his chair, Lyle shrugged off an invisible hold on his body before shaking his head unsteadily, "Me, John."</span> </p><p><span>"Dear lord." John groaned mildly into the night, "You're meant to boil it, not pour disinfectant into it." </span> </p><p><span>"Sorry John," The man leapt at the chance to pull John from his disdain, by the look on his face, it was clear he couldn't cope seeing his herald in any kind of peril, and especially not at him.</span> </p><p><span>Glancing from beside John, the chosen cracked a smile, and that smile became a grin, and from that grin began a chuckle that tickled the trees as far as Natalia sat. </span><em><span>What's he doing? </span></em> </p><p><span>Following the chuckle, another started. It was John.</span> </p><p><span>Cheeks caving in a tight smirk, John took the flask to his lips before erupting with laughter too, taking a gulp of the liquid between grins to ease his dry laugh. </span> </p><p><span>"Still tastes better than Whitetail water." The chosen eyed his Herald before closing his flask with a humorous shrug. </span> </p><p><span>"Actually," John leaned his form to one side in order to capture the supposed culprit of the water-based crime, "how would you like to go and work for my dear older brother?" His voice was laced with bait as he stared down the young man.</span> </p><p><span>"J-Jacob?" The unkempt cultist staggered as he forged a few laughs to offset his nervousness, beady eyes darting between both the chosen and John as they pursued their camaraderie. "Like a chosen?" He uttered with disbelief.</span> </p><p><span>"Unless you believe being a judge is better suited to your skillset?" John squinted with a discerning look as the rest of the group expelled a chatter of giggles. </span><em><span>How strong is this stuff? </span></em><span>With a composed raise of his hand, </span><span>John eased the gaggle of peggies, "Let him speak." </span> </p><p><span>"No—I uh," Lyle scratched at his thin, matted hair as he pulled together his incoherent brain, "I like working for you John-" He lowered his head in a show of chagrin. The ozone of laughter dispersed between his broken words and an awkward air crept in that hushed the flock of men to nothing but the whisper of the night.</span> </p><p> </p><p><span>"I've got an idea." A member farthest from Natalia piped up from within the darkness, a small click echoing through the campsite that turned heads and attention alike. "D'you mind, John?" Logan's slender form crept out into the firelight, tipping his head to the Baptist with his offer.</span> </p><p><span>"Please-" The Herald allowed.</span> </p><p><span>"Well," Logan slithered further forward, revealing a revolver from his back pocket, "I think we should play a game." The peggie proposed darkly before waving the revolver about, "It's a campfire classic." He loaded a single shell into the cylinder of the small gun. </span> </p><p><em><span>Holy fuck. </span></em><span>Natalia fell back against a bush, pushed off balance in the dark, slicing a graze up her arm as it shot down against a twig. </span><em><span>You can't be serious.</span></em> </p><p><span>"Five of us and five empty slots..." John's voice seemed to project in her direction as she pulled herself from the brush. "Well... Let's play." She could have sworn she caught the last glimpse of John's eyes as she repositioned herself. But it didn't seem like he saw her. </span> </p><p><span>"Who's going first?" Logan spun the cylinder in an anticipatory manner as he paced along the forest floor.</span> </p><p><span>"Since you so generously offered," John sighed, "I suspect it's your rite to go first." The cotton of his chair creaked as the Baptist leant forward with dazed, stimulating eyes. </span> </p><p><span>Clicking the cylinder back into the small revolver, the sound of repetitive spinning ceased. "Fine." Logan's strides halted, as his spine arched with the invisible wave of alcohol flowing through him, unable to fully plant his feet where he stood, before lifting the gun to his head with a cock. </span> </p><p><span>The sight was unholy as Natalia observed the seated men stare on as though watching a circus animal perform. The morbid curiosity practically oozed from their mouths as they hung loosely observing their 'brother'. </span> </p><p><span>Pulling the trigger abruptly as Natalia's heart sprung into her mouth, the weapon merely expelled a mechanic click before the peggie lowered it. Although she'd seen death, plenty, and caused it too... This was something different. </span> </p><p><span>Stumbling over the bare ground, Logan grinned with his gift of living through the night. Approaching one chair, he planted his heavy feet once more before poking the gun out in front of him and pointing it directly at John.</span> </p><p><em><span>He must have some sort of death wish.</span></em> </p><p><span>"Your turn!" The scrawny man jeered at his superior, merely causing John to fix his gaze on the shaded face of his worker, looking directly past the gun levelled at his face and instead up the arm to the man holding it.</span> </p><p><span>A fine tilt adorned John's head when, cutting short their exchange, he grabbed the gun, still focusing on Logan, spun the cylinder, barely a breath being admitted to his lungs, and pulled it to his head.</span> </p><p><b><span>No! She needed him alive!</span></b><span> John couldn't fail this mission for her. She stared in disbelief like the light was playing tricks on her. He couldn't.</span><span>That son of a bitch wasn't about to--</span> </p><p><em><span>Click</span></em> </p><p><span>There was a beat as John sat with the gun to his temple, submerging his flock into a suffocating silence. Steadily, he peeled the revolver from his temple and nonchalantly planted it back into Logan's grip. Somehow, a day hadn't gone by where the crazed peggies hadn't astounded her. Was John really willing to undo everything he'd committed his life to just for a dumb game? Or was he just drunk?</span> </p><p><span>"Not such a-" John dropped like a ragdoll back into his seat, "Big g-guy now, huh?" The slurred words fells from his lips in a jaunty smile.</span> </p><p><em><span>Definitely just drunk.</span></em> </p><p><span>"Carter!" The Baptist continued, barking the name like a dog. "Take the gun. It's your turn." John guided Logan towards the extremely quiet peggie who'd manage to avoid being the subject of any quips or grillings thus far. The newfound attention caused everything about the aforementioned man's body language to seize up.</span> </p><p><span>Tensing around his armrest, Carter's hands didn't depart to retrieve the revolver, instead, he sat wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights, chewing the inside of his cheek as though it were the only sustenance he'd come by in the last week. </span> </p><p><span>Jolting the gun forward at the fearful man, Logan growled as he observed his shrinking brother. "Take it, I ain't gonna hold it for you." </span> </p><p><span>"I-" Carter stammered as his body caved into his seat, eyes darting around until they stopped on his Herald. "John," He shivered, "What about the New Eden?"</span> </p><p><span>Logan's growling tailed off as Lyle sniffled a chortle. "Take the gun, Carter." John groaned with all the impatience of a wizened gambler.</span> </p><p><em><span>"I want to reach the New Eden," </span></em><span>Carter whined smally, avoiding the swings and pokes of the revolver being waved at him.</span> </p><p><span>"Fucks sake just take it!" The arm attached to the gun swore.</span> </p><p><span>"You </span><em><span>will</span></em><span> reach the New Eden, now </span><em><span>play the game</span></em><span>." The Baptist fretted, turning over in his seat to impound a stare on the weak young man. </span> </p><p><span>"But how will I know?" He howled as the gun cocked against his temple, trying the best he could to bend from its oppressive seat against his brain. </span> </p><p><span>John pounced from his seat unsteadily, winding his way to the gunman, " God Will guide you there </span><em><span>if </span></em><span>he sees you worthy." He hissed as he halted behind Logan, the two men caging off all light from Carter.</span> </p><p><span>"What if I'm not worthy!?" He shook the arms of the chair, almost toppling his seat.</span> </p><p><span>The lawyer threw a deep sigh down at his worker. Eyes lulling over the man as he tipped his head towards Logan. </span><em><span>A signal.</span></em> </p><p> </p><p><span>A gunshot sounded across the empty forest as a body fell limp against its chair, blood-red fluid spilling out onto the ground and across uniformed material. Downturning her eyes, Natalia watched the ground beneath her, seeing the fearful man's face in the soil by her knees. She had no idea what atrocities he had committed during his time with Eden's Gate, but it was a rare moment in her life that she'd hoped there was a God. Just for his sake.</span> </p><p><span>"Wow..." John unleashed a hitched breath from its restraint in his throat followed by a well-aerated chuckle. "And that's our game over." </span><span>The drunken Baptist teetered backwards, catching his balance in a swift pivot as he waltzed back to his seat. </span> <br/>
<span>"Wyatt." John heedlessly nudged the Chosen beside him, the one sat closest to Natalia. "Take his body, I don’t want the wolves coming." </span> </p><p><em><span>Fucking hell, </span></em><span>Natalia winced as the Chosen stood up, blocking her eyeline of John before clambering across the seats and throwing the dead man over his shoulder like a sack of fresh produce. Looking back to John, Rook saw how his head sat in one place, looking out in the direction where the Chosen had stood – towards her.</span> </p><p><span>Slumping behind the tree bark, Rook rubbed her ankles together, brushing the accumulating dirt there away from her rigid skin. The sound of compressed dirt and crunching leaves departed as a body was carried away, echoing through the forest.</span> </p><p><span>"Lyle." The smallest of the peggies prodded his partner who'd manage to escape the threat of their Russian game. To which the other did not respond. He simply lay there in his muddied seat, mouth hung open in a doze. It was unclear whether he'd passed out, especially from this distance. But what was even more unclear was from what: The blood that was splattered all across his body that included a smattering of muscle tissue, or the ethanol tearing apart his liver as his windpipe crackled with each heavy snore. </span> </p><p><span>Lowering his head to his hands, John looked wistfully off into the tree cover before inhaling the bitter air in preparation to speak, "He didn't disinfect the water, did he?" The inked skin of his hands smoothed over his face, eyes closing into cold palms. </span> </p><p><span>"Nope." Logan shrugged haphazardly, head falling to the side as he did so. </span> </p><p><span>"This-s some rancid old bliss." Whined the Herald, groaning into the cover of his hands. </span> </p><p><span>"Some first-gen shit." The peggie swung his arms out in exclamation before keeling over on himself, bent double to catch a sickness in his stomach. "Look, I gotta-" He craned his neck until he could see the Seed sat in front of him, "I gotta go, you wanna ride back?" The unrefusable offer presented itself to John. </span> </p><p><span>"No." The Baptist sat back in his seat once more, looking up to the sky. "I'll walk." The sentences exiting his mouth were short. Much shorter than John's usual long, flourishing proclamations. </span> </p><p><span>"Fine." Logan stumbled off into the darkness, digging around in his pockets for what would presumably be keys. Which left John alone. She couldn’t blame him, really, she'd be kidding herself if she said she hadn't driven drunk before, but from the state of the half green peggie, as he careened off into the night, a ride from him would most certainly end in someone's death, whether it was an unsuspecting raccoon or John Seed, himself.</span> </p><p> </p><p><span>But John didn't stand from his chair to pursue a walk of shame back to his nearby ranch, no. Instead, he sat, consumed by the darkness of the barely smoldering fire, only moving to pull a chair over to rest his dark boots on as he gazed up at the stars. </span><em><span>What's he doing? </span></em> </p><p><span>Then a whistle. </span><em><span>What? </span></em><span>Not the whistle of an old-timey jazz standard or ancient hymn, but the whist</span><span>le of an owner to his dog. He kicked the chair away and revolved in his seat, leaning over the left armrest, staring straight in her direction.</span> </p><p><span>"So rude!" John sing-songed, lower jaw left unhinged as his parted lips caressed the air. </span><em><span>Don't be paranoid, </span></em><span>Rook chastised herself as she stood her ground. </span><em><span>He can't see me. It's too dark. </span></em><span>"You won't even come-" He outstretched his arms, leaving him without a balance as he rocked in the chair, "-and say 'hi'." </span> </p><p><span>It was drunk ramblings, she was sure of it. The Seeds weren't exactly sane, and this was no different. He continued to sit there, simply staring off into the darkness before a boredom crept over his features.</span> </p><p><b><span>"I know you’re out there, Wrath." </span></b> </p><p><span>John stumbled to his feet, his tone more threatening than before as he began lolloping towards her. She had no time to think, but to spring to attention, heaving the bag over her shoulder as she entered a sprint.</span> </p><p><span>"You can run, girl," The pace of John's footsteps behind her picked up. "-But I'll find you." He panted as intoxicated laughter spilled from his lungs.</span> </p><p><span>Tripping over nettles, Natalia began to stumble in the darkness, thrown off course by large obstructive roots and severed tree stumps. She had to slow to a job to avoid the large ditches appearing beneath her feet, leaping over one before seconds later, being jumped by a large, heavy form that knocked the wind out of her lungs as she dropped to the ground.</span> </p><p><span>"Shh, shh shhhh." John hushed, the dizzying scent of alcohol coating his words. "It's ok, Deputy, shhh." There was a smile in his voice as the weight of his body peeled from hers, the arms on her shoulders pushing her over to face the Baptist, lungs heaving as she met her attacker. </span> </p><p><span>"I didn't know you'd be joining us." John's eyes were soft and out of focus on her as she batted his hands away and off of her body, crawling out from beneath him. </span> </p><p><span>"I'm not." Natalia fretted as she evaded the alcoholic breaths departing John's worn lungs. "I just stumbled upon you." She defended herself, pulling her bag from where it had fallen in their scuffle and behind her. </span> </p><p><span>"You don't need to explain yourself." John followed Natalia in her crawl backwards as he unsteadily knelt towards her. "I already know what you're doing here." The man growled ominously pressing a hand on her thigh, sending Natalia in a stumble backwards to her feet.</span> </p><p><span>"Fuck o-" She momentarily began her chastisement before noticing John's absence of listening. Or the absence of anything much at all. He'd collapsed on the ground beneath her feet. Eyelids fluttering closed in a blissful sleep.</span> </p><p><em><span>Oh shit. Now this really didn't look good. </span></em> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Return to Sender</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There's a showdown at the Seed Ranch as Rook negotiates her way out of her death sentence.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John's unconscious body was spread out on the floor beneath her feet; passively inhaling and exhaling the frigid air in slow, shallow breaths that barely filled his weighted lungs. And whilst somewhat an unforeseen situation for Rook, she couldn't deny: it had its advantages. So, Natalia decided to make the most of his compromised state, whilst ignoring the dread trickling into her gut at the thought of being caught here. The outcome of that hypothetical scenario ending with a bullet through her head.</p><p>Crouching down to where the Baptist lay in an ethanol-induced slumber, Rook pressed her hands down against his limp body, patting for a radio around his beltline. The airport-style pat-down wasn't making her feel any better about the situation so parting with her rational mind, Natalia honed her brain in on finding the radio and not the warmth and angles she felt beneath his clothes.</p><p>A cuboid came into contact with her hand, which made Rook sing as she pulled it from his hip: <strong>John Seed's radio.</strong> Reaching out with her other hand to unzip her duffle, Rook read the frequency of the device and then cloned that self-same frequency on her clunky radio receiver she'd had hidden in her bag. It was the perfect plan.</p><p>Switching on her receiver, Rook bought John's radio to her mouth, still crouched next to the owner's body. "Test." She whispered through the microphone to hear her own voice played back on the receiver before feedback began rattling louder and louder through both speakers. Oops. She flicked the radio off before sliding her hand under John's hip to gift the cultist his own back.</p><p><em>Now. There are two options here.</em> She stared at John's relaxed face.<em> Risk John remembering tonight and telling Joseph I was watching them. Which ends in: Yep, death. Or--</em> Natalia furrowed her brown, twisting some hair between her index finger and thumb, <em>Kidnap him? </em>It didn't work out well last time and would likely end in, the cult's favorite solution: <em>Death.</em> <em>So what now? Where would be the least conspicuous? Where's nearby?</em></p><p>
  <em>The Ranch.</em>
</p><p>She couldn't.</p><p>Oh, but she could.</p><p>Picture this:<em> John wakes up in his own bed and voilà: It was all a dream.</em></p><p>Natalia slumped down further, glazing over as she looked at John.<em> I'm so tired.</em></p><p>
  <em>Fuck it.</em>
</p><p>Grabbing underneath John's arms, Natalia began dragging the Lawyer backward through the forest, only realizing how short their chase was when less than a minute later, she arrived back at the campsite, puffing her chest out as she regained some strength.</p><p>At the campsite, one of the peggies was still passed out in his seat, his blood-smattered face and lightly red-smattered uniform the same as she left him.<em> His uniform.<br/>
</em>Leaving John's side, Natalia jogged up to the cultist and began to undress him to switch her clothes with his own. The peggie wouldn’t miss them, not when they were covered in his friend's blood. Rook supposed she didn’t mind, not with how her own clothes would usually have peggie blood on them by now anyway.</p><p>Slipping on the last bit of her new disguise, Rook looked over to John as she slipped the shirt over her head, watching how his chest quietly rose and fell where he lay. It was time for a climb.</p><p>Lugging an unconscious John Seed up a hill was something that never crossed her radar. Neither did the fact that his ranch was uphill from here. It was like some practical joke that she'd managed to get stuck with his limp body at the lowest level of Holland Valley.</p><p>Heaving him up one last step, Rook arrived at the courtyard of the ranch. Two wooden sunbeds stared out as they guarded an entrance to the large building. In fact, they were the only thing guarding the entrance?</p><p>Brushing a branch aside, Natalia peered out from her perch. There was no one guarding the doors. Where were his guards? Her mind echoed back to the men who were either dead, passed out, or now in a road crash, back at the camp. Suddenly she knew exactly where his guards were.<em> Looks like someone hasn't turned up for their shift.</em></p><p>Making sure the coast was clear, Rook took a hold of her unlikely hostage and dragged him through the courtyard and straight through the large wooden doors, not allowing a glance either side of her as she focused on getting inside and into safety.</p><p>She could take John to bed, yes, but that would require pulling him up more narrow steps, and her back had started to cry out for some solace from her last stretch up a winding dirt path. So she opted for the sofa. It'd have to do. Who knows, maybe he would've slept on the sofa with the state he was in, anyway.</p><p>Easing John's head down against a pillow on the leather couch, Rook stepped back to look at her work, and it occurred to her. She had leverage over John now. Russian Roulette? Blaspheming about Joseph's word? And most of all, still taking prisoners for the cult. She had a reason to stick around.<em> Blackmail material</em>.</p><p>Stepping back from her spot of observation, Rook felt a smile tickle her lips. It seemed like everything was falling into place after all. Hopping up the stairs of the ranch as she kept a surveillance on John, Natalia searched for a room. One must be going spare in a place this size. And how right she was when she opened the first door to be met with a grand display.</p><p>A large stag-head adorned the wall, larger than the one downstairs, and truth be told, larger than anyone she'd seen. Although the interior decorating wasn't quite her style, she had to admit she was taken aback by the dazzling decoration. The doors within this room seemed to be a darker oak, perhaps mahogany, each of them carved to include a set of scales as a sort of centerpiece, even the wardrobes which were double-doored and built into the ranch on either side of a grandiose four-poster bed. The sheets were thick and royal blue in color, with a black bottom sheet that pocked out beneath the pillows. A fur throw sat at the foot of the bed, neatly lined up against the footboard for the comfort of cold nights. A large trunk and an armchair were displayed at one corner of the room, adjacent to a chest of draws that held small portraits on top that she couldn't make out from her stance in the doorway. But the framed piece she could make out was on the opposite wall. It was a picture of John, Joseph, and Jacob outside a church. And they looked young.</p><p>As much as the luxury practically screamed her name and her back begged out for the soft beckon of his mattress, she knew that this room, without a shadow of a doubt, belonging to a certain Baptist, was where John would find her first. So for that sacrifice, she'd have the upper hand and probably a slightly less comfy mattress.</p><p>The next two doors contained a large office and a family bathroom that Rook took note of. Until she wandered to the end of the mezzanine and found a door out to a cornered wood parapet. There had to be a guest bedroom somewhere, so this was her best bet.</p><p>Crouching behind the door, Rook crept along the cold wood surface, the distant green lights of alarms and patrolling peggies passing in the distance, caught her peripheries. The night was dark, but a deeper hue of navy prevailed along the horizon as if opening the doors to morning.</p><p>Approaching a door to her left, Rook gently grazed the handle as she pushed it open to hide behind it. Swiftly flying behind the door, Rook made sure to press the wood shut, exhaling as she felt the warmth of central heating rolling in from the room open behind her.</p><p>Turning her head, she finally saw what she wanted: Her prize. It looked to be a guest bedroom, from the sight of towels neatly folded on the bed and untouched linen. Well, what are beds for if not for sleeping in? Diving against the linen, Natalia inhaled the fresh cotton smell as she lay flat against it, rest at last. Crawling over, she untied her shoes before kicking them to one side of the room, beside a lone chair.</p><p>And before she could allow her head to finally hit the pillow, Rook made sure to give herself what protection she could. Grabbing the chair sat at the corner of the guest bedroom, she planted it under the door handle in an attempt to prevent any break-ins. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. And with her bag close to her side, Rook sunk into the duvet and into an even deeper slumber. Comatose and practically as passed out as the man asleep on the floor below her. She was going to be facing a lot in the morning. But the implications of her actions were yet to be seen as she blissfully faded into the mattress.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Rook awoke like a steel weight smothered in blankets. The sheets had an unfamilar smell, not like that of the sheets in Dutch's bunker, or the numerous houses she'd bunked at, no: Like the fresh cotton of her childhood bedsheets. But as refreshing as the sensation may have been, the smell struck up something else deep in her gut. This wasn't her home, it was the Seed Ranch. And it was currently still occupied by, yes, John Seed.</p><p>Tearing herself from the guest bed, Rook dropped from the sheets to find herself adorning a peggie uniform, half-stained with a dark brown that looks as though it may have once been crimson. <em>My god,</em> she thought, dusting off the dried blood. And although the sight would have usually been repulsive, Natalia took the educated guess that John wasn't exactly repulsed by blood, if his actions over the past few months were anything to go by, so she took a deep breath and began her descent.</p><p>As she opened the door to the mezzanine level of the house, Rook merely saw one or two peggies guarding the large doors out to the courtyard, whilst the fire in the living room crackled with a few barely visible embers. However, most importantly: The couch had been departed. John was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the remnants of his rough night. It was unclear if that was good or bad news yet.</p><p>Touching down on the first floor, Natalia surreptitiously tapped along the hardwood floor to a door that she believed to be the kitchen. And as she reached her target, a doubt crossed her mind: She could just flee. Escaping would be quite easy, and they could keep their ceasefire -- that would be it. But it wasn't enough. She would commit to it. It was time to distance herself from any doubts or fears.</p><p>Carefully levering the handle of the door open, the large oak frame exposed the bright light of a large kitchen, and dead in the center of it was a hungover John Seed nursing a <em>Project at Eden's Gate</em> branded mug, full of coffee.</p><p>Steadily looking up from his mug, beckoned by the creak of the large doors, John laid eyes directly upon the deputy who'd foolishly stepped right into his territory. He looked worn all the way through, with heavy eyes and his usual smart-casual attire nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a cashmere sweater with a familiar pair of dark jeans.</p><p>"Everyone! Get out!" John launched from his stool with a primal shout, some scolding coffee spilling from his mug as he struck it against the counter. All at once, the peggies in the extremities of the room jumped from their posts and made a break for the doors.<br/>
Taking her eyes off of John momentarily and onto the fleeing peggies was a mistake as Rook turned her attention back to the herald just at the moment that she got tackled into a corner of the room.</p><p>Latching onto her shoulders, John forced his weight against hers as he dragged her into a darker corner of the room behind a large wooden beam, pressing his knee out against her legs as one arm hurdled from her chest to her mouth.</p><p>Struggling against the multiple holds he hand on her, Natalia attempted to kick away John's legs as he whipped his head away from hers to watch the last of his men depart his kitchen. Stamping her foot against the rich leather of John's shoe, Natalia managed to get some gravity away from him before he slammed her back against the wooden beam, this time with more force.</p><p>"Are you trying to make a mockery of me?" His eyes were untamed, yet heavy with the echoes of the previous night as he jabbed his other arm across Rook's chest to free her mouth for whatever excuses were about to pour out.</p><p>"You fucking killed that guy," Natalia latched onto John's tattooed forearm where it locked her against the wall, "He was one of you!"</p><p>"I don't think you're in any place to take the higher ground here, deputy." John fretted through his tension-riddled body as he heaved a dry laugh. <em>So he does remember.</em></p><p>"I saw everything. You don't have a leg to stand on!" Rook spat as she bucked her hips away from the wall. "Seemed less than holy to me."</p><p>Elbow stabbing down her torso, John cracked his form against hers, clamping his hand against her hip as he pushed it back into the wall. "Think what you want to think," There was a dimming fire behind those eyes, "No one will believe you." He said with a cynical shake of his head. "But I'll indulge you." He looked across Rook's face: tight with wrath.</p><p>"You're still taking prisoners," Natalia tilted her chin up to avoid the closing distance between herself and John, "You broke your side of the deal." There was a ghost of struggle in her voice as she kept her body rigid, avoiding surrender.</p><p>"They're from outside the state." The lawyer condescended, "They're not sinners you care about." John loosened up a bit as he huffed his statement.</p><p>"That wasn't the deal!" Rook chortled with disbelief.</p><p>"I'm afraid it was..." A smile painted John's lips as he envisioned his momentary win, "However, stalking us and breaking into my home was not." The hand hooked across Rook's chest retreated as John walked it along his back pocket to his radio, latched onto Natalia's eyes as he did so.</p><p>"Your brothers don't know, do they?" Rook interjected as her grip reluctantly slipped off his arm, "-That you're still taking prisoners." She was panicked, he could have her killed for what she did last night.</p><p>There was the tiniest fraction of a second that passed where something akin to fear was embossed across John's face, she'd have sworn on her life.</p><p>"My men already know." John pulled back from Rook in a contradiction to his words, "Do you think I'm afraid of letting more people know?" His expression was stone hard.</p><p>"Your men don't have the balls to snitch on you, and you know that."</p><p>"And you do?"</p><p>Their chests rose and fell together amidst the standoff.</p><p>"Try me." Natalia went to grab at John's radio as he stepped back, pulling the device from her reach and retuning it to a familiar frequency.</p><p>Pacing away from her at a great speed, Natalia's heart dropped into her mouth, hot on John's heels. The radio raised to his mouth as he rounded the counter, his back to Rook.</p><p>Mind rattling with images of her last breath on this earth, Natalia's vision went out of focus as she almost tripped her way past the counter. If she wasn't sure she was sober, from the dying light in her vision, Rook could believe she was as blissed. But it wasn't drugs, it was fear. A deep, ingrained fear of seeing her death with Hope County unliberated.</p><p><strong>"Don't."</strong> Rook commanded. "You don't need Joseph! You can sort this out."</p><p>John froze, only each rise and fall visible between his shoulder blades were moving. Eventually, smoothly turning on his heel, the radio in John's hand drifted ever so slightly away from readiness.</p><p>"I'll do what you ask." Natalia leaked the words like a broken pipe, "I'll join you, or be your prisoner... I'll atone." Her breath slowed as she saw the hesitation on John's face, her demise slowly retreating away from her.</p><p>Searching across her whole body, John waited, lips ajar with the intention of speaking as he thought. The radio in his hand resumed an unnoticeable descent.</p><p>"No." The Baptist asserted, unmoving. "You'll stay here." A wave of something drifted over John's form, his voice a monotone injunction. "You won't contact the resistance and we can keep our... <em>Deal.</em>" Natalia watched as John broke his stance to walk across the kitchen from her.</p><p>"I'll forgive your trespassing," John continued, opening a drawer, "<em>But you'll do what I ask.</em>" he asserted, sifting through some paper. "You'll stay out of sight." His blue hues drifted up to meet hers as his hands grabbed hold of the paper, "And if you don't," He worked his way back around the counter to Natalia, "I will make sure you <em>suffer to the very last breath, for every crime you've ever committed against me, or my family</em>" He promised, "I'll have you strung up; <em>without food</em>" John took a step forward, "<em>without water,</em>" The paper dropped onto the counter, "<em>and I will tear each sin from you until<strong> nothing is left.</strong></em>" An unsteady blink broke his gaze "Then we'll see what Joseph will do to you."</p><p>Natalia's heart was racing with intention. She wasn't going to be intimidated. She wasn't going to be tamed. She was going to overcome John, the cult, and save the whole county, starting right here in this kitchen.</p><p>"Yes." Rook looked up at the confessor, blood coursing through her veins. "Deal."</p><p>The two stood toe to toe as John drunk in the fire radiating off of Rook. Had she really agreed to his terms? She must've really been desperate. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to let it slip through his grip as he instigated a gentle nod that encompassed his captive.</p><p>"Great..." John exhaled, settling back on his right foot, a fondness slowly washing over his features. "But first, Deputy, hand over your belongings." His voice lacked the gravity it had during his threat as it settled at a natural hum.</p><p>Sliding her hand in her pocket, Natalia held a firm glower on John that caused a minuscule lift in his cheeks. Out came a lone pistol, that Rook held onto for just a moment longer than she should as she planted it in John's offered hand.</p><p>"Thank you." The Baptist smiled warmly, placing the weapon onto the side leisurely, before turning back to Rook expectantly. "And the rest, deputy."</p><p>"That's it." Natalia shrugged as she pulled the lining out of her peggie uniform pockets.</p><p>"Your radio."</p><p>"Don't have it." Rook surrendered her hands out innocently as the space between John's brows pinched.</p><p>"Fine." John stepped forward before pressing his hands down against her waistline to feel for a hidden device. Sent backward, Natalia backed away from her pat-down, realizing how, in a matter of hours, the tables had turned quite severely.</p><p>"Seriously-" The smell of an expensive cologne invaded her senses as John reached around her. "No radio." She gritted her teeth as John pulled away.</p><p>"You came here alone," John nearly stammered, "with no radio?" Simply receiving nothing more than a nod from Natalia, John resumed his proceedings by pulling open a drawer from between the two of them. Inside it, lay all sorts of DIY equipment that would only look threatening through the lens of the cult. Rope fell into her line of vision as John took hold of it and began unraveling the spool.</p><p>"You don't need that." Natalia shook her head with a nonchalance as she stepped away slightly.</p><p>Looking up from the rope in his hands, John simply lifted a brow, "You're untrustworthy." He gestured for her to offer her hands to him, readying the rope.</p><p>"I'll do what you ask, I already agreed-"</p><p>"<strong>Then I ask that you listen to me.</strong>" John firmly pulled Rook's hands behind her back as he began winding the spool around her wrists. With John out of her vision, Natalia frustratedly eyed around the kitchen for anything sharp she could eventually cut the rope with when John's back was inevitably turned.</p><p>The bounds were tight, with a large knot that dug into her wrist, and she could feel by the way her shoulders were pulled back that she'd surely last just a day without getting the damn rope untied. She'd find a way.</p><p>Still browsing the work surfaces for the perfect sharp and shiny object, John sat on a chair across from her as his pen began scratching away at paper. <em>Was there anything sharp in that room?</em> Rook scanned her brain across the guest bedroom she'd stayed in the night before as she shut her eyes on the room. There were unexplored drawers, so it was a possibility, but what was even better was the perfect image that drifted into her mind's eye of that duffle bag: sat relaxed against the wall like a bag of pure, unadulterated magic. Tuned radio receiver and three needles perched inside. No need to sneak around John when she could achieve her goal right under his nose. <em>Prisoner, my ass.</em> He had no idea what he'd just signed off.</p><p>"A contract." Paper flopped in front of her vision. <em>Are you joking?</em> It was just the usual contract, signing her life and freedom away to one person. But if it was going to appease him, so be it: Natalia had something much bigger planned.</p><p>Trying her hardest not to scan the words too hard, Rook flipped to the bottom of the back page where a signature column sat. "I can't sign it." Rook pulled on her arms where they were immobilized behind her, her shoulders raising to half their usual extension.</p><p>Without a word, John stepped up and began loosening the restraints behind her back. "Don't try anything." He said as he let her left hand slip out from the rope, placing a pen in her grip.</p><p>It only crossed her mind after she'd laid pen to paper that she'd not referenced her lefthandedness before. Beginning a phony squiggle of a signature, John pulled the pen from her hand once more.</p><p>"Your <em>real</em> signature." He groaned, crossing through the tiny scrawl she'd begun.</p><p>It was worth a try, Natalia thought as she reluctantly ran her pen across the pattern of her name.</p><p>
  <em>Signed: Natalia Alcott.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Contractual Prisoner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's Rooks first week as a prisoner at the Seed Ranch and she's not about to waste any time as she begins her deep dive into John Seed's past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roused by the first crack of sunlight that broke with dawn, both John and Natalia would often meet early morning. It seemed John was an early riser, from their crossing paths as early as five A.M. some days. Although the reasoning for this morning-lark nature was hidden from Natalia. Whether it was due to some alarm or perhaps an erratic sleep schedule; that remained unclear.</p><p>Sat at the head of a small dining table, John was nursing a glass of coffee in a display of some morning routine. In front of the lawyer, presented on the table, was a large cardboard box, with what looked to be a handwritten address on the top.</p><p>The sunlight streaming in from an adjacent window caught a shard of light through John's light irises from the angle she approached. Placing one foot in his threshold, John looked up with a promptness.</p><p>When she was around, it seemed, John had a certain way of watching her. The way he studiously observed her movements had been played on her mind a lot. The lingering eye of the baptist had followed her around the ranch, yet he rarely followed up on his stolen glances. Assumptions lead her to the conclusion that he was probably mistrusting of her. Rook was certain if it was the other way around, she wouldn't let John even approach her peripheries. Why wouldn't he be mistrusting with the biggest enemy of the project in his very own kitchen -- hands tied or not.</p><p>"Good morning, Deputy." A diplomatic smile worked its way onto John's lips. The light flickering away from his eyes as he shifted in his chair, body turning to mark Rook in her route across the kitchen.</p><p><em>Watchful</em>, Natalia thought as she began scoping her way to an opposing counter, "Mornin'" The deputy offered reluctantly.</p><p>Gliding against his glass, John's hand smoothed along the surface of his drink. And as Rook perched against her new spot in the kitchen, John leaned back in his chair, an inclination on his head. They were sat plainly in each others' presence, a notion that was disrupted when Natalia caught a glimpse of where one of John's feet was tapping against the other ever so subtly beneath his table.</p><p>Taking an inhale as he broke his extended gaze, the baptist leaned forward to take hold of the large box seated in front of him. Focused solely on the box, John uttered a simple command, "Could you please fetch me a knife?"</p><p><em>A knife? </em>Rook stared blankly. She must've misheard him. Her mind spluttered like a neglected engine.</p><p>Abruptly pulling his blue hues from the box, John destroyed her hesitation. "Deputy, a knife." He instructed, his voice hardening as he ordered her once more from across the room.</p><p>Looking to the box and back at John, once and then twice, Natalia blinked. <em>A knife, </em>she thought.</p><p>Stepping up from her spot, John's head immediately leveled at her first inch of movement. By the next step, his hand began a smooth descent over the box, trailing the cardboard with each glide of her feet. A fluidity infiltrated his body. He was encapsulated, well and truly. Like a scientist observing an experiment.</p><p>Turning her back at the last moment as she landed upon the knife holder, Rook shrugged, pinching her shoulders where they were forced to stay with the rope that bound her hands, "I can't."</p><p>"<em>You can't?...</em>"</p><p>"I can't get a knife -- I can't reach it," Rook quipped, provoked by the redundant questioning. What the fuck was John playing at?</p><p>As she subtly tripped on her words, a sly cave appeared in John's cheek that twisted his features. Hand eventually peeling from the box, John rose from his seat, a sight passing his lips. His route across the kitchen was slow, deliberate, even lazy. As he prowled across the kitchen, John halted, lining up toe-to-toe with her. Inches from the sink, mere centimeters from the knives in their shared reached.</p><p>"<em>Deputy</em>, in my experience," John placed a hand over his heart as he inclined his head towards Rook, "most good things in life don't come easy." The hand over John's heart pulsed as his eyes wandered across her and onto the knives near sentence end.</p><p>"Like getting you a knife?" Natalia retorted as she kicked one of her legs over the other to rest herself against the kitchen work surface once more, sinking back as John approached her.</p><p>"<b>Like, </b><em>Freedom of movement.</em>" He planted his feet closer, causing Natalia to keep a hardness about her face. She stood still, unshaken. Glancing to the ground back to her once more, John discontinued his pursual, "But that's clearly a lesson for another day." A precursory chuckle lifted from his lungs as the corners of his eyes lightly creased, his hand falling to her shoulder followed by an unconcerned push. Roaming down, Rook felt as hands came in to contact with her own, toying with the rope on her wrists until it came undone. "If you give him an inch," The voice behind her uttered as the rope slid from Natalia's wrists, "He'll take a mile."</p><p>Breaking free, a wave of warmth came over Natalia, as her arms swung back into sight. Feeling her wrists freed for the first time in days, her shoulders felt tight as she moved them back to where they naturally fell, flexing her elbows as she loosened her back, finally. It was an overwhelming sensation as her blood sunk into each crevice it had previously abandoned</p><p>Falling into her vision as she flexed each tendon in her hands, John appeared, the rope still in his hand. A calculation seemed to be quietly taking place in his mind that stole away some presence of the man before her. A presence that returned different as his weight shifted between feet. "You know, <em>Greed, </em>Deputy, is an ugly sin."</p><p>The rope between his constricting fists pulled tort between his hands, stretched out in front of her like a tiny tightrope.</p><p><em>You're kidding. </em>Opening her mouth to object, a frustrated looked had already pasted itself on Natalia's face when, "Don't argue." John silenced her clandestine complaints, "Or I'll just have to do it myself." He pulled the rope tort twice rhythmically as if to summon her hands to it.</p><p>His words went through one ear and out the other. Grounding herself as a storm brewed beneath the surface, Natalia felt her gut kick out, she had all the energy to throw him to the ground and kick the shit out of him. The knives beside her had burnt into her vision and that smug face.</p><p>Tugging her hands down against the rope, Rook felt a jolt go through her body that caused John to snap his head to meet hers. Swallowing down her adrenaline, something lifted John's cheeks as he intertwined the rope with her hands, her forearms practically throbbing as he did so.</p><p>As he finished his work, John cupped his hands assuredly over Natalia's, a false-caring behind his blue hues, "I still need that knife, Deputy." He let go of her as he strode back to his seat, pulling the large parcel towards himself.</p><p>Chewing the inside of her cheek, Rook turned to capture the knife holder, unsheathing the closest one from its holder, her fingers splaying out around the hilt of the weapon. As she turned it in her hand, the orange of the sunrise caught against the metal and shot a beam off behind her, the over-wear of the blade only visible under the sun's own microscope.</p><p>Turning on her heel, Rook looked from the blade and to John, who was stonily sat with the box in clinch. Taking steady steps, Natalia halted at the table, and seeing John's offered hand, she placed the blade within his palm.</p><p>As the cold metal of the knife made contact with his skin, John exhaled a long breath, watching Natalia as she lowered her hands back down after the offering. There was a hum that whispered across his lips as he turned back to the box, his body following reluctantly behind.</p><p>Revolving the knife in his grip, the lawyer seemed to disregard her presence as he finally drove the sharp edge into the duct tape that bound the box. Cutting the edges, before moving it away and out of Rook's eye line, John closed the box.</p><p>"Where are you going?" John piped up as Natalia was suddenly steps away from the door.</p><p>"Back to my room." She called out, as she pulled the door shut behind her.</p><p> </p><p>Natalia had come accustomed to her mode of sneaking around the ranch over the past couple of days. Leaning out of alcoves to check doors, crouching behind the sofas as the shifts swapped, and of course that ever-extending crawl across the parapet back to her room, which she really wish she didn't have to do. In moments of weakness, she'd considered running across it, but seeing the floating red dot of a sniper bounce off the windows, meters away, she decided it was best to keep bruising her knees in order to keep her limbs.   </p><p>Back inside Rook's guest bedroom, Natalia had unpacked her duffle to a convenient hiding spot in the large chest of drawers, at the bottom, underneath the final drawer, in a small crevice of wood lay the needles, and under sheets of fresh linen sat her radio receiver - her best friend over the last few days.</p><p>Squat on her chair, Natalia grabbed the receiver and let the static run, sometimes for hours, waiting to hear the next peep from John. She'd heard order after order to the hopeless peggies about his ranch, even something about a few 'MIA'.</p><p>Other conversations were much more complicated as the voices broke in and out of static. Until she heard that perfect command, "Meet me at Joseph's gate." This was her moment.</p><p>Spreading the curtains ever so slightly to catch sight of the runway, Natalia saw a black  fighter plane turn onto the sprawling concrete path. A cult logo was visible on the side of the awe-inducing machine as it picked up a great speed along the Ranch's personal runway, the wheels catching grit as it launched into the sky with the volume of a stretched out gunshot.</p><p>Leaning against her hands, Natalia observed how the plane looped a few times, banking until it pursued slightly east of due north. <em>North-North East</em>, she thought, closing the gap in the heavy fabric curtains. <em>Joseph's Gate is North-North East of here.</em></p><p>Unfortunately, not as ignorant as she'd hoped, she couldn't exactly have free range of the Seed Ranch when John wasn't about. Peggies were filtered in upon his departure, peggies with a bad case of trigger happiness. John couldn't have her poking about his business, <em>that would be awful, </em>Natalia thought with a crooked smirk and a shake of her head as she teetered across the mezzanine on all fours at just the right speed to crack John's office door open and crawl between the gap.</p><p>After days of waiting, she'd finally made it. <em>John Seed's Office. </em></p><p>The office was a room with a stern air. Vast bookshelves suffocated the walls on either side of her like a runway. A darkened glass lampshade hung gloomily above the desk, the light only casting just far enough to meet the doorway of the room. Behind the desk lay an alcove of windows whose strict ironing of each pleat of the curtain suggested it hadn't been open, maybe ever? The chair behind the desk wasn't a computer chair, not like the one she'd been accustomed to in John's underground sister-location. Instead, it was a grand leather armchair, one that conjures a smell of tobacco and teakwood.</p><p>Another table stood strong at one side of the office. It was a large, dark wood one, the framing of the carpentry a little too large for the size of the table itself. Four chairs were arranged around the table, neatly tucked in and noticeably less expensive than the furniture they were enveloped by.</p><p>Breathing in the stale air of the room, no scents of tobacco or teakwood peaked her nose, instead, that of a room constricted of air. Often closed. It didn't smell lived in, no, more like a museum. Dusted wood and surprisingly fresh leather.</p><p>Approaching the desk closer, few ornaments spread about it came into her vision under the weak light. Two ink pens, restrained in their stand were poking out from the desktop beside an old-looking file organizer made of wood with solid metal latches.</p><p>Natalia's hands smoothed across the glazed wood surface as she landed herself in the chair. Reaching out for a pen, with both hands, A small emblem was visible near the end of the metal barrel of the dark pen. It was a small plane, simple enough in design and in the outline of a black and gold on the dark navy pen.</p><p>Beside those pens, lay a picture, whose back had faced her from where she entered. The picture was of Joseph. That was it, nothing else. Neither symbolic nor obtrusive. It was the self-same photograph posted on many walls about the ranch and even the county. Part of her wondered why John would keep a photo like that on his desk.</p><p>But now wasn't the time for admiring any office decoration, neither was it time that she really had to spare. So pulling her attention away from the artefacts spread out in front of her, Rook shifted her attention to the file organizer. She had a job to do. Unhooking the silver latch and gently tugging on the tray, a whole stack of papers appeared from within the confines of the small wooden holder. They were all news articles.</p><p>Removing the papers from the tray with great precision, it was imperative that she didn't shuffle them about too much. John would probably be aware. He didn't seem the kind of man to misplace things and Rook didn't want to be the one to draw his attention to that.</p><p>The first few articles Natalia had retrieved were from <em>The Hope County Chronicles, </em>a local newspaper that she'd spied often since her arrival. During her time liberating the Henbane, Rook had seen many printings of the local newspaper, either half-read and folded by its previous owner or mounted on the wall as a celebration of local events.</p><p>The papers were immaculate, not a crease nor crinkle in sight. They were preserved under the pressure of a steel paperweight that Natalia tossed to one side as she sifted through the sheets.</p><p><em>Power of Yes?<br/>
</em> <em>No Thanks.</em></p><p>
  <em>John Seed Seminar Puts Price on Motivation</em>
</p><p>Her eyes scanned across the broadsheet, spying a date in the top corner, a date from almost six years ago.<br/>
The article began constructively, and if not rather flattering about its subject:</p><p><em>On Friday afternoon, just a usual autumn day in the heart of our county, a young preacher held a seminar. The small stage was decorated with flowers as a crowd gathered around to watch a handsome, young preacher express his passion for a new kind of philosophy. Well-spoken and magnetizing, John Seed, younger brother of local church leader, Joseph Seed, appeared today to teach what he calls: </em> <b>The Power of Yes.</b></p><p>Scrunching her nose, Natalia practically rolled her eyes at the page. She knew now why he kept this news article and decided to read further. But from flourishing paragraphs grew a much darker cry for help. This article hadn't aged well.</p><p><em>Revealing a match from his pocket, Seed proceeded to light a wood archway to one side of the stage. Inviting a volunteer up, he promised the power of being free from fear. Local girl, Annie Williams, volunteered by her parents, set foot on stage beside Mr. Seed. Taking the girl into his arms, Seed proceeded to proclaim a series of questions based around his philosophies, creating a call and response from the audience: "Will you be unburdened by fear?", "Yes!" The crowd would call back in place of young Annie, followed by louder and louder proclamations, wherein it was reported Ms. Williams had become tearful. </em> <b> <em>"Will you have Faith?"</em> </b> <em> To which the crowd obliged yes: Ensuing a scene wherein Mr. Seed had taken Ms. Williams to the flaming archway and beckoned her through. A scene, we were told, had young Annie in a fit of anguish, going as far as to physically assault Mr. Seed, albeit it minorly. However, tamed by her parents, Young Annie eventually said what appeared to be a magic word, "Yes." Before she walked through the smoldering archway, and the seminar was over. </em></p><p>It sounded like John, that was certain. The whole page was practically littered with warning signs. If someone had just called the police department at the time, surely they could've done something about this. <em>She would've</em>. Rook fretted as she placed the sheet back into its bed between the rest of the papers. <em>Why did Whitehorse not stop the Seeds whilst he still had a chance? </em>It was a question that had tickled her mind before but hadn't dared fall upon her lips. It was perplexing and something that she'd maybe never have the answer to.</p><p>Running her thumb along the corner of the pile, it became clear that each and every sheet was just another article. So, removing the drawer once more, Rook patted the sheets along the side of the desk and smoothly dipped them back into their home.</p><p>Next came the drawer beneath. Unsheathing it from its polished wooden case, the words <b><em>CONFIDENTIAL. </em></b>Struck her eye like a missile, big, black redacted portions of text lined up like battleships across a grid. </p><p>
  <em>Bingo. </em>
</p><p>Lifting the much larger wad of papers with all the finesse of a Junior Deputy, the stack landed on the desk with a sound that may have just reached the hall if she hadn't shut the door behind her. Bare out in front of her was a treasure trove ready to be explored. However, she was the Indiana Jones with an ever-approaching boulder in the shape of a suspicious peggie, or god forbid, John Seed himself. Time was of the essence.</p><p>So, hastily proceeding with her work, Rook began flipping through sheets and sheets of legal jargon that she couldn't even begin to understand in some instances. A large majority were property contracts by the look of the addresses repeated across the text when near-ish the bottom of the stack, until three letters shot into sight: FBI.</p><p>The document was different from the rest, in that the grain of the paper was slightly thicker, slightly off-white. In her hands was an FBI report detailing the use of a drug called...</p><p>Running her hands across the text, Natalia scanned the paragraphs</p><p>
  <em>Scopolamine.</em>
</p><p>The full report was barely readable through all of the dark pennings across anything from one word, to at one point in the stack, an entire paragraph. The text spoke of <em>Illegal production, coercion, </em>followed by references to <em>Religious practice, verbal consent, unlawful surveillance, </em>and <em>religious discrimination. </em></p><p>Eden's Gate had been busted for a drug way before bliss, so it seemed. <em>Scopolamine,</em> Natalia pondered as her eyes landed on a chemical formula. Maybe she'd heard it somewhere before? Either way, what was important was that the cult were somehow running bliss operations <em>after </em>an FBI investigation. That was impressive, Natalia hummed with a shameful approval.</p><p>Closing the papers to read further down, Rook reached the last page. It was old. Much older than the papers preceding it. The corners were either folded or chipped, with large wrinkles down the center of the paper. It hadn't been looked after until it had landed a spot on this desk.</p><p><em>Georgia Bureau of Investigation</em><br/>
<em>Missing Person: Jackson Roberts, age 39, Rome, GA.<br/>
</em> <em>Last Seen: [obscured date] Attending a sermon near WestRome Park, Rome, GA 30165.</em></p><p>"Holy fuck." Rook sighed as a transcript of an interview with Joseph Seed labeled, '<em>Witness/Suspect' </em>appeared at the turning of a page. Until the subheading, <em>'Failed to attend interview'  </em>broke her enthusiasm. Joseph was a suspect of a missing person's case in Rome, a case that he failed to turn up to - no doubt through some legal loophole produced by John.</p><p>Dejectedly collecting the papers back up, Rook sorted the organizer to be the exact image of how it originally looked upon her entrance to the office. It was time to pack up and leave. She'd learnt enough, and besides, now that she'd learnt the peggie shift patterns, she could probably break in and do another spot of reading any time she wanted.</p><p>Rising from the leather armchair, Natalia took a few steps across the room, casually looking across the spines of books and at other sprawling decorations, it was the sort of decoration she'd imagined for a lawyer's office; Latin books amassed, the typical 'scales' logo she'd seen a lot around the ranch and of course a law degree. <em>A law degree..</em>. <em>Looks like this room's the gift that just keeps giving.</em></p><p>Mounted on the wall, beside the broad table was a certificate, a certificate which - having lurked closer - Rook could now see was a degree. <em>Harvard University,</em> the letters were big and bold, a shining emblem proudly presented beside them, and in the middle, the name, '<em>John Duncan</em>'. But that wasn't what piqued her interest, instead, her eyes were drawn to a glossy photograph, poking out the corner of the frame.</p><p>Without a moment's thought, removing the mounting from the wall, Rook twiddled with the frame until it came undone, the clandestine photo breaking free.</p><p>It was one of John and four other men, all dressed in suits. Their faces were youthful and smiling, their arms placed over each others' shoulders in a display of joy. At the center, where a young John was grinning through the camera, Natalia stared at the foreign face. Beardless, tattooless and less of something else without a name. He looked happy.</p><p>It became difficult to remove herself from the face in her hands. <em>If he was such a success story, why did he leave that life for some dumb cult? </em>The question posed itself to the young man gleefully looking back at her. <em>All that freedom, </em>Rook thought. <em>All that money. </em>She chortled as she placed the photograph back into its spot. Something wasn't adding up about the cult, but mostly John. She had so many questions that remained unanswered as she retreated back to her room covertly.</p><p>They were questions that often played on her mind deep into the night as she lay with her head haphazardly rested on the rope. Sleepless if it weren't for the tire she'd accumulated mentally. Tossing and turning, Natalia would finally settle that night with her hands rested on her stomach, neatly tucked in under the duvet as she clung for warmth and drifted off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Take your posts. Your last shift ended five minutes ago!" </em>A crackling voice abruptly sturred her to jump up from her mattress.</p><p>"<em>Move!"</em> A voice crackled. She'd left her receiver on, and it was now broadcasting John's voice across her room.</p><p>Bolting from her bed, Rook clung onto her chest as she jogged across the room and batted the volume dial down, the hand on her chest rattling with her palpitations.</p><p>"<em>I said move!" </em>John's voice cracked again as she sat ear to the receiver. From this distance, the timbre of each word was crisper, cleaner. The crack wasn't the radio, it was John's voice. It was distorted, <em>weak? </em></p><p>Replaying the sound in her head, another sound stole her attention away from the beating of her heart. Rustling, furious rustling. Then, a cuss. A barely audible cuss if she hadn't held her breath as she swallowed her heartbeat.</p><p>The noise ceased and Natalia let go of her breath, ready to switch the receiver off as her adrenaline stilled, when a voice broke through as his finger touched the off button.</p><p>"<em>Wyatt, I need supplies.</em>" A breath scratched the speakers, "<em>...Please." </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just another busy day at the Seed Ranch!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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